Finding Your Way Back Home
by Write Love Letters
Summary: A Socialite or One of the Guys? Gabriella Montez knows both worlds well and in the city that never sleeps, she is about to discover that finding her way is a lot harder than she thought. Will she have to give up some things for her fairytale to come true?
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I always find reading the stories where all that really exists are the characters really interesting. I also like reading the plain 'what happens after' fanfictions too. So here's my attempt. Don't expect updates every week because school's starting again, but please don't let that discourage you from reading.

**Summary:** Start with four single women, toss in the Big Apple, sprinkle in a never-ending credit card and a plethora of men. End Result? Not quite sure yet. Gabriella Montez chronicles the trials and tribulations of her and her friends finding 'happily ever after' amongst the many unhappy endings.

**Pairings:** Troyella, Chaylor, Rylsi, Zekepay

**Disclaimer: **All I own is the bubble that I live in, everything else is up for grabs

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**Labels or Love**

**Prologue**

_Love is the history of a woman's life; it is an episode in man's. – Germaine De Stael_

~*~*~

Year after year women from all over the world come to New York in search of the two Ls: Labels and Love; having lived in New York my entire life, those searches ended much earlier for me than other women. For example, when I was seven, I discovered the importance of a _Fendi_ bag and _Chanel_ No. 5. When I turned thirteen, I experienced – for the first time – falling head over _Manolo_ _Blahnik_ heels in love. A few short weeks later, I unfortunately found out what a broken heart felt like. As I grew older, I discovered that it was easy to whip out my AmEx for the newest _Louis Vuitton_ bag, but that is wasn't so easy finding an actually decent man in all of New York City. Still, everyone needs a little help in both departments. For me, 'Help' came in the form of Kelsi Nielson, Taylor McKessie, and Sharpay Evans.

~*~*~

My name is Gabriella Montez and I'm a writer. Year after year, while other women decided to brave the Manhattan scene in search of anyone or thing, I took into confidence that I would always have my single girlfriends to rely on and our romantic escapades to write about. At age thirty, we were all happy to revel in the next decade of our life as independent successful single women, but that didn't stop us from hoping the next guy we meet could be 'the one'.

Kelsi was looking for the perfect love. Ever the romantic, she lived out her 'happily ever after' beliefs in her Broadway compositions. Kelsi always tried to encourage the rest of us that Mr. Right was out there. She believed that the fairytales we read when we were younger could and would come true. Taylor loved her job more than a social life. Of course, being the Mayor's right-hand woman could make you married to your job in some respects. Most of the time, Taylor's over-analytical mind overruled her emotion-filled heart in her pursuit of love. Sharpay, well, she loved herself. Always one for a challenge, Sharpay's dazzling star kept climbing higher and higher whether on Broadway or in Hollywood. She never had enough time to truly make time unless that time was with her best friends or a one night stand. As for me, I was content with dreaming. Mr. Right was hiding amongst all the Mr. Wrongs New York had to offer, and after the many men I dated, I thought that my fairytale may just be that – a fairytale. Still, the little girl in me, the one who loved _Cinderella_ and _Beauty and the Beast_, she still doesn't lose hope on her 'happily ever after' where Prince Charming is waiting to sweep her off her feet.

~*~*~

Our story, truthfully, began twenty-five years ago at East Side Academy, but the book full of elementary school – teasing and hair-pulling, crayon-stealing, simple assignments – is long forgotten. The parts of middle school – awkward puberty, crushes, truth or dare – are some that we wish could be thrown in the East River. The sequels to those early years, high school – dating, gossip, shopping – and college – separation, sororities, the 'future' – were best-sellers in their own respects. This story though, isn't one about the trials and tribulations of growing up and finding yourself; this story is about the trials and tribulations of finding your one true love, with a few stops to Madison Avenue on the way there.

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Yes, it's ridiculously short. The normal chapters won't be. Please review. I'd love to know what you guys thought.


	2. Just an Ordinary Day

**A/N:** I'm horrible and soooo sorry!! I know that it's been like a month since I updated the first chapter. I've just been _so_ busy with school and extra curriculars that I haven't been able to write much. But I'm home sick today with not much homework, so you guys get an update. Yay! I know I warned you that I won't update truly regularly, but that didn't mean that you'd wait for months on end! FYI: I do tend to be a perfectionist - something my BFFs are trying (and failing) at fixing, so I don't normally post unless I'm completely satisfied.

**Special thanks to:** _supastarby9, Loves to read 15, AllForLoveAndHappiness, digigirl02, XxloveismexX, headstrongbears, Dramione x3, __palmbeach, xmollyx, _and_ sophieloveschocolate._

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the bubble that I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

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**Labels or Love?**

**Chapter 1**

_Just a day, just an ordinary day … just a boy, just an ordinary boy – Vanessa Carlton_

~*~*~

It felt refreshing to have the snow fall on my face. The cold droplets of frozen water melting on my skin transported me back to kindergarten, a time when things were so much simpler. It was a time when jobs and deadlines didn't exist, when my friends and I could giggle without being frowned upon, where boys had cooties and were considered either our best friends or 'yucky'. Snow was different to me, it was cleansing, magical, heavenly, and mysterious. My best friend Sharpay, on the other hand, would just tell you that snow is a pain in the ass to deal with, especially in $525 stilettos from _Manolo_ _Blanik_. In my opinion, snow is something that doesn't deserve the 'pain in the ass' label it is issued. The snowflakes that were creating New York City into a winter wonderland deserved a much more appropriate label. I mean one doesn't walk into _Barneys_ expecting to find merchandise from _JCPenny's_ – it's just not right. At least, that was what I was pondering while walking through the falling snow.

~*~*~

I glance up and down the street hoping to catch sight of a yellow cab instead of having to walk the rest of the distance to a local coffee shop where I was meeting the girls. Unfortunately for me, every single cab seemed to be taken; leading me to walk those seven or eight blocks in my heels. Wrapping my scarf tighter around my face, I smile as the flickering lights of Madison's Café come into view. It was a welcomed beacon from the below-freezing temperatures outside. Entering the café, a slew of teenagers rush out – obviously late for classes – and I finally reach my intended destination, a small table at the back of the room – three spots already occupied.

On the right side of the table, with her back to me, sat Taylor McKessie, her black locks were swept up in a sophisticated bun and a blood red coat was hanging on the back of her chair. Directly across from her was Sharpay Evans. The blonde bombshell was a vision of pink, her flawless face holding a slightly rosy hue due to the cold. Next to Sharpay sat petite Kelsi Nielson, her light brown hair was curled tightly and partially hidden by a winter hat. The composer was chatting excitedly with the other women. I approach the table leisurely, unconsciously adjusting my white pea coat while at the same time a hand comes up to run through my dark brown curls – it's habit I've never really quit.

"I _cannot_ believe that I left sunny California for this," I overhear Sharpay exclaim as I wave to the owner of the café, Jeff Madison. He waves back and continues to take orders. Kelsi sees me first; the smile on her face is unmistakably happy. Sitting down in the last chair, Taylor and Sharpay smile in way of greeting.

"Hey Brie," greeted Sharpay in a peppy voice. "Haven't seen you in awhile, deadlines killing your social life?"

I roll my eyes at Sharpay's attempt at humor. "I'm not the only one who's been private lately, ahem Miss Evans."

"Oh please, my job requires me to fly all over the world. All you have to do is walk to the local _Barnes and Noble_ and talk about some book," scoffs Sharpay.

"Alright, let's stop this before it turns into a full out bitch match," Taylor groans next to me.

"Let 'em at," Kelsi declares. "They haven't seen each other in months; it's not like they actually mean it, right?"

"Please, in California, if you're not all happy and bubbly and whatever the hell else, it's like you're an alien," complains Sharpay as she takes a sip of her non-fat latte. Jeff comes around and places my regular vanilla latte and blueberry muffin on the colorful mosaic tiled table before moving on to the next group of customers.

Taylor laughs until her _BlackBerry_ _Pearl_ starts vibrating on the table. "Shit, I thought I had the morning off."

"And I thought you loved your job?" I taunt. Taylor works as the right hand woman to the Mayor of New York City – I don't know her exact title, but the job is high profile. I believe it has something to do with the fact that she spends more time with Mayor Bloomberg than his wife does. The time consuming and stressful requirements do piss Taylor off sometimes though.

"Are you kidding me? You three are the ones with the good jobs, I got the crappy one just like I get the crappy men," sighs Taylor toying with a cream cheese smothered bagel. "I just don't understand why they can't let me have one morning to myself. I'll be right back guys."

I share a rueful smile with Sharpay and Kelsi as Taylor walks out of the crowded coffee shop and into the brutal cold. "Why do our conversations always transfer to the topic of men," I ask. Both Sharpay and Kelsi shrug. "I mean, do we not have anything better with our lives than to complain about our non-existent relationships?"

"Where's the fun in being tied down?" asks Sharpay incredulously. "If we didn't always dump the guy, you wouldn't have a job."

I guess she's right. The inspirations for my books are _always_ caused by my girlfriends' hopeless search for love.

"Speak for yourself Shar," Kelsi counters. "I happen to want to find a steady man. I mean, I'll be turning thirty in five months. My mom told me that the minute you hit that age, it's harder than ever to find a partner."

"I would not bother with the advice from your mom," announces Sharpay.

I can't blame her. Kelsi's mom is old-fashioned. She tried to get Kelsi to marry this guy in her senior year in college at Julliard, didn't quite turn out well considering the fact that Taylor and me found him screwing Kelsi's roommate one afternoon – but that's a story for another day.

"She's not that bad," I hear Kelsi state.

Reentering the conversation, I put in my two cents, "Kels, remember you-know-who?"

Sharpay looks at me in alarm while Kelsi's normally happy face, falls a few notches. _Whoops_, I probably should've just left that little bit of history in my head.

"Oh my God, I didn't mean to bring him up," I hurriedly say. "It's just that, uh, I mean, well…" I falter and mentally smack myself. _Nice going Montez_.

"No," Kelsi says stiffly. "Gabi is right, my mom isn't the best in that department, but she still managed to find the right guy. So maybe there's still hope for the rest of us."

I hear Sharpay choke on the last of her omelet. "Are you frickin' kidding me?"

Ah, Kelsi just opened a whole other can of worms with that remark. I happen to believe she's right in the idea that we can still find 'the one'. Sharpay on the other hand cannot be persuaded to our side of the argument. She believes that marriage is overrated and a whole bunch of explicative phrases. Of course, it could be contributed to the idea that her 'high school sweetheart' left her the moment he realized she was a virgin at senior prom.

"Whatever the hell you just said please tell me you were kidding," exclaimed Sharpay to Kelsi.

I roll my eyes. Yet again I have to play referee between my two best friends. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to put in my own opinion. "Come on Pay, don't you ever think of Mr. Right? Prince Charming? Don't you actually want someone to tend to your every whim when you need it? A support system besides your best friends?"

Sharpay stares at me like I just grew another head. _Uh-oh this isn't good_.

"You did not just suggest the idea that you want to marry a guy. After Drake and Zac, I thought you were done?"

Drake Tanner and Zac Masters were two of the _many_ guys I've dated, but they were my only two serious relationships – until I realized that Drake was fooling around behind my back and Zac was married to another woman. There were others too, but they didn't do anything, well, nothing that deserved to be written about at least.

"Just because those two were asses, doesn't mean that another guy could possibly be the right one," I shrug; it's hopeless to fight Sharpay.

Sharpay rolls her eyes as her _iPhone_ starts singing Britney Spears' _Circus_. "Sorry guys, gotta take this," announces Sharpay. Taylor had left a little while ago when she finally hung up her phone, muttering something along the lines of '_son of a bitch' _under her breath. Now with Sharpay's departure, Kelsi leans across the table.

"I didn't want to say it in front of Shar and Tay but, Jason Cross asked me out to that Italian bistro over on 95th," she squeals. "Can you believe it?"

I grin at Kelsi, knowing this was huge.

"He's a major name in the publication circuit," she adds. "Have you heard of him?"

Had I heard of him – uh yeah I had. Jason Cross was _the_ big shot of the publishing world. I actually had a few of my own manuscripts run by him, but that was when he wasn't so well known and I hadn't met Josh. I also knew that he was the bachelor in the high profile world - biggest player at times too. But I wasn't about to tell Kelsi these little details about Mister Cross. So I settled for the nondescript version.

"Yeah I've heard of him. Just in passing though."

"I'm not buying this 'who needs marriage' crap Sharpay is playing up," states Kelsi. "I'm gonna try and make this work."

_Good luck sister_. I smile and nod, "When are you meeting up with him?"

"He's picking me up from the theater around 7 pm."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We were gonna go to _Prowl_ over on 35th and get wasted," I sigh. _Prowl_ is this major club in the celebutante world. Anyone who's anyone hangs there. It's the crème de la crème of Manhattan society, which of course means that my girlfriends and I were going to be there.

Kelsi rolls her eyes, "Oh well, just get wasted without me. It's not that hard."

"Fine, have fun with Jason Cross and tell me everything, even the kink."

"We are _not_ having sex on the first date."

"That's all Pay does," I state nonchalantly, munching on the blueberry muffin.

Kelsi wrinkles her nose in disgust, "I'm not Sharpay."

"Right sorry," I giggle before giving Kelsi a quick hug. "Have fun, I gotta go before Josh has my head on a platter for being late."

"Deadlines, course. Good luck with the publisher," Kelsi calls out as I head out the café. I wave goodbye before I exit the café and attempt to hail a cab.

~*~*~

"I'm almost there Josh calm down," I yell into my _iPhone_ while tossing a couple of twenties at the cab driver.

_"There are some big associates here this morning Brie. I don't have to remind you that they are here to see _you_,"_ Josh Martin, my publisher, states pointedly.

This was so repetitive that I could recite word for word what Josh would say next, and presumably so could he. I imagine Josh in his usual_ J. Crew _sweater and khakis, his dirty blonde hair overrun with hair gel, a venti Americano from _Starbucks_ on his desk, and his fingers in a steeple as he chatted with me; his _BlackBerry__ Storm_ on speaker. It takes all of my willpower to not ask Josh if that is exactly how he's positioned.

"Don't worry, Josh I'll be there in ten."

"_You better_," he warns before hanging up.

Blowing my bangs out of my face, I become focused on checking my purse to make sure I have my latest manuscript, so focused in fact, that I completely miss that a guy in a suit – obviously late for a meeting – is running straight at me. Always a little late on the reactions, I don't see him until he plows through me; catching me off guard and making my new _Kate Spade_ fly out of my hand.

"_Whoa_," I hear someone behind me exclaim. "You ok?"

Turning around, I spot my Kate Spade in large calloused hands. Glancing up, I find my savior to be handsome guy. Probably a little under six feet, the guy had a warm smile that reached these gorgeous azure eyes, slightly covered by honey colored hair.

"I'm fine," I smile to the stranger. "Thanks for asking."

"No problem," he shrugs. I gesture to my purse and he sheepishly extends it to me. "Right," he says drawing the word out. "This is yours isn't it?" he teases.

I nod shyly, taking the bag. "Thanks," I murmur. He nods a twinkle evident in his ocean blue eyes before waving goodbye and heading toward the subway. Turning around I enter the high rise and mentally smack myself for the second time that day. Why the hell was I acting shy? Normally, with guys like that, I dropping my number on them somehow. Groaning, I check the time on my phone. _Great two minutes late, Josh is going to have a field day. _But waiting for the elevator, walking down the hallways of Josh's office, all I could think of was that guy…

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So um, how'd I do? Did you guys like it? Please review and tell me! Maybe I'll update faster knowing that people enjoy this story...


	3. Start of Something New

**A/N:** Uh, no this story isn't supposed to be a once a month update fanfic. Just, I've been applying for schools and dealing with taking the SATs and such, life's just been crazy. Plus, I have day-to-day homework, yearbook, basketball practice, graduation coming up soon, my school's play, and this enormous project that's like 50% of my final grade. I just haven't been able to really write this story. I'd also like to let you all know that I have another story that's called _As Our Lives Change_ (it's part of the _CSI: NY _universe, if anyone's seen the show [personally, I love it to death] but yeah), I started it at the beginning of the school year and that's my main priority. _Labels or Love?_ is kind of on the back burner until _As Our Lives Change_ ends. Just so that the people who have me on author alert, don't get peeved over the fact that_ As Our Lives Change_ gets more updates than _Labels or Love?_, now you know. All right I'm done, I doubt you guys wanted to hear me say all this anyways, but please don't come at me with pitchforks and flames...

**Special thanks to:** _letsbehappy_, _rkfollower_, _headstrongbears_, _Dramione x3_, _corbins wifey_, and _Andryya_.

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the bubble that I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

**Labels or Love?**

**Chapter 2**

_And we're all getting hosed tonight … Just dance, gonna be okay – Lady GaGa_

_This could be the start of something new… – Zac Efron & Vanessa Hudgens_

~*~*~

While I was busy smiling and attempting to make nice with the publishing reps, Sharpay was doing press junkets for her upcoming movie _One of the Boys _in Times Square_._ Four hours _of David Letterman, The Early Show, Vogue, Jay Leno, TRL, The View, Seventeen, Live with Regis and Kelly_, etc, Sharpay was ready to shoot her publicist. Just down the street in a theater on Broadway, Kelsi was running down rehearsals for her production _Twinkle Towne. _They were professional performers, supposedly, and Kelsi had the unfortunate job of running down each and every stanza of each and every song in the performance on top of composing the songs in the first place. Meanwhile, Taylor was situated in City Hall trying to make nice with the big boys of politics and the press. Not one to back down from a challenge, Taylor was going full out public relations plans regarding the Mayor's obvious 'accident' that made headlines in the press. Why Bloomberg's mistress decided to spill to _Page Six_ this specific morning, after months of sneaking around is unbeknown to most – specifically though the mayor.

Too bad it was only the start of our day…

~*~*~

By the time I my cab rolled to a stop in front of _Prowl_, the clock was pushing ten thirty pm. The club was blaring the Top 100 and couples were already walking out drunkenly, the men hoping to get lucky. I shake my head as I pass the long line of people hoping to enter the famous club or hoping to sneak a glance of some random celebrity. Smiling to the bouncers I bypass the line and head straight inside, pushing my way through the crowded dance floor to the bar. Off to the right, Sharpay and Taylor are both nursing drinks, green apple martini for Sharpay and a Screwdriver for Taylor. Waving to familiar faces both on the dance floor and at the bar, I finally came to a halt next to Sharpay and Taylor.

"So what went down with the mayor Tay?" asks Sharpay after greetings are exchanged.

"Oh God," complains Taylor. "Don't even start. The bitch had to, of all days, spill to _Page Six_ her secret relationship with the mayor _today_. Today for _God's sake_ it's New Years Eve, I did _not_ want to frickin' set up a PR campaign today!"

Coughing into my Cosmopolitan to my cover my laugh I glance up at Taylor. "You know, you're not the only one who had to work today," I say knowingly.

Taylor scoffs, "Attending interviews with Jay Leno and Regis and Kelly don't count."

Absentmindedly stirring the apple in her drink, "I think Brie meant that she had an impromptu meeting with a few publishers because they happened to be in New York for a party," Sharpay says.

"Hm? I didn't know you had a meeting today."

I shrug, "Doesn't matter it's over with."

"What'd they say?" Sharpay presses.

"Nothing much. I mean I already have a publisher, I bet Josh would be pissed if I left him."

"Even if it pays better?" inquires Taylor.

I roll my eyes, "Please Tay, I get paid enough."

Sharpay laughs as she drains her martini and hails the bartender, "Give me a strawberry margarita." The man nods and Sharpay turns back to Taylor and me. "Alright, more pressing matters besides the fact that Brie is rolling in cash. Where the hell is Kelsi?"

I raise my hand dorkily, "She's got a date tonight at some fancy party so she's not joining us."

"Oh come on," groans Sharpay. "She's ditching us on New Year's Eve? Who the hell is gonna take me home?"

"I bet you'll find someone to take you home," snorts Taylor.

Sharpay shoots her an icy glare, "Whatevs Tay. Anyways, is that why she was talking about that crap this morning?"

I nod and Taylor just stares at us wide-eye, "Wait, what crap? What the hell did I miss this morning?"

Sharpay shrugs coyly, taking a sip of her margarita that the bartender just dropped off.

Sighing, I decided to tell Taylor. I know for a fact that it will be forever and a day before Sharpay will actually reveal anything. Me, I write stories because I can't keep my trap shut. I debated whether or not to reveal the reason why I was late to _Prowl _– two hours straight worth of outfit rejection after outfit rejection, it drove me insane – but for the sake of Kelsi, I won't. "After you left this morning, Shar and Kels got into it about marriage and happily ever after," I reveal as Sharpay shoots death glares at me. "Not my fault it's a sore subject Shar, you shouldn't have gone ape-shit on Kelsi."

"You know for a fact that it's a sore subject for both me and my brother. We had no effin' control over the damn thing," she cries.

I nod quietly, before taking a huge gulp of my Cosmo. When Sharpay and her twin brother, Ryan, were in tenth grade, their parents, Robert and Derby, had a huge split. There were issues over who would get what, how much money either parent would get, which houses and cars belonged to who… It was a mess. The sad thing was that of all the things Robert and Derby Evans fought about, never once did they fight over who would gain custody of Sharpay and Ryan. The twins ended up staying in New York City with their mom while their dad went to Albuquerque, New Mexico. From then on, Sharpay dismissed the idea of happily ever after or even ever marrying a guy. Sharpay's decision was further proved when Ryan and his fiancé broke off the engagement a week before the wedding because 'it wasn't working' according to Ryan's fiancé. It left Ryan heartbroken and Sharpay with a need to kick the girl's ass into next week, as she so gently put it.

"Anyways," coughs Taylor. "To wrap it up, all I missed was talking about guys?"

"Yep," Sharpay and I answer automatically.

"So I missed nothing," Taylor states clearly.

"Well, I wouldn't say… of course…" I falter and pout slightly. "Yeah, you missed absolutely nothing new."

"Good," nods Taylor. "I would've killed Tony before the reporters do if I'd have missed something important."

"Whoa, since when have you and the mayor been on a first name basis?" Sharpay asks suddenly.

Rolling her chocolate eyes, Taylor sarcastically says, "Since I went 'round his place, had a couple JD shots and almost got into his pants."

Sharpay whistles loudly, "I know he's hot, but from what I hear office romances never work out too well."

I giggle, "That's good Tay, can I use it? I can just see Josh's face when I show him my next book." I wipe my hand from left to right, as if I was mapping out an invisible line. "A mayor and his personal assistant getting it on in city hall, it's genius."

Sharpay and Taylor both snort in their drinks, before Taylor hails the bartender again and asks for three shots of Jack Daniels.

"Alright, before we get too drunk, I say we raise our drinks to the New Year," she proposes. Sharpay and I nod in agreement and all three of us each raise a shot glass. After a slight pause, Taylor and Sharpay glance at me.

"What?"

"My arm's gettin' tired Montez," Sharpay shot at me. "You're the writer you do it."

"I always do it," I complain.

"That's cause your good at it."

"Fine," I huff, pausing for a few moments I debate about what to say. "Alright," I finally announce, motioning to Sharpay and Taylor to raise their JD. "It's been a year of heartbreaks, success stories, and breakthroughs, both for us and for our country. Even though we're definitely leaving the era of 'young adults' let's not forget that on this journey, we're all in this together. Perhaps, we'll find what we've been looking for or some things may not quite work out for the better, but who cares. The little moments that we grab and hold on to will be the ones we treasure and keep for the rest of our lives. Just don't forget that one night, and only one night could be the difference between a life of 'what ifs' or the start of something wonderful, something new. So to us, the past, present, and future," I conclude clinking my shot glass with Taylor's and Sharpay's before each of us down the shot Jack Daniels in one gulp.

~*~*~

"_A'right everyone, we got about ten minutes before the New Year, so let's get everyone on this dance floor,"_ screams the DJ into his microphone. Rolling my eyes, I wave to Taylor and Sharpay who were both dancing with a guy, before draining the last of my _Heineken_ and ordering another.

"I'd be careful with that," I hear someone mention behind me. Swiveling around in my chair, I glance up at to be met with the same electric blue eyes I'd seen earlier in the day. He had the same grin as he had had earlier, his blue eyes twinkling. The hands that had caught my _Kate Spade_ earlier in the day were now nursing a glass of what I assumed was scotch on the rocks. He caught me staring at his glass, and he absentmindedly swirled the drink around before taking another sip. "It's scotch, if you're wondering."

I grin at him, "Good, I was right then."

"Hm?" he asks, his smile showing off perfect white teeth.

I glance at him and shrug nonchalantly, "I guessed it was scotch and I was right."

"Oh, you're the kind of girl who enjoys solving stuff?" he says humorously.

I grin cheekily, "Sometimes. At the moment, the case that I'm working on is getting me nowhere."

"Oh and what's that?" the guy asks.

Humoring him, I add seriously, "I just can't seem to figure out how to wrap up this case, I mean the evidence is all checked in, interviews have been done with the victims, but everything seems to point to men and their crazy ass way of making women fall in love with them, there's no logical explanation."

I watch as he laughs at what I just said. It's not one of those polite laughs I hear people use, to humor the joker. No this one was real, it came from deep within him and I had to admit I like the sound. It wasn't too obnoxious or too dainty; it was just a good ol' laugh, one you expect to hear from somebody.

"So I'm guessing, you're not some hot NYPD detective," he finally says when he's done laughing.

"Why'd you think I worked for the NYPD?"

"You're drinkin' beer, no chick, except if their part of law enforcement, can hold her own with a _Heineken. _Plus, you knew I was drinkin' scotch. Never, ever met a girl like you," he states.

"My dad worked for the NYPD as a homicide detective. He was good friends with a few legacies there."

"That's cool," he says. "He still got a job there?"

I silently shake my head and reach for the beer bottle so as not to talk to the guy. What would I tell him exactly, _"Uh, no my dad he died in the line of duty on a drug raid."_ I shook my head self-consciously I didn't want to drag up the memories.

The guy next to me seemed to understand though, "Oh," I hear him say. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," I hear myself whisper. "It was a long time ago." Even still, I could feel tears prickling in my eyes.

I felt the guy take my small hand in his larger one. "Sorry, I didn't mean to," he falters at the shake of my head.

"Don't worry," I say, flashing him a small smile. "I don't even know your name yet and here I am spilling my life story to you," I giggle.

I watch as his eyes soften and he grins back at me, "I have than effect on people. It's Troy by the way."

"Hi Troy," I say. "My name is Gabriella but you can call me Brie or Gabs or Gabi or…" I trail off as Troy's hand comes to cover my lips.

"I got it," he says with a twinkle in his eyes. "For the record I knew your name, Gabriella." At my questioning glance he pulls a small rectangle of cardstock from his sports jacket pocket and flicks it on the table. Curiosity getting the better of me, I pick up the small business card, noticing that it was my own. _Gabriella Montez, best-selling author_, followed by my phone number _(212) 555-3948_ and email address_. _"It fell out of your purse this morning," explains Troy.

"Have you been stalking me?" I ask shrewdly.

Troy laughs again – it was starting to become my favorite sound – "No, no, definitely not. I'm not a wacko."

"Good."

The countdown of the people in the club put a stop to our conversation. I glanced around for Sharpay and Taylor, but my best friends had been lost to the sea of people. Troy and I glanced around the room; I assume he was looking for his girlfriend. Neither one of us were taking part in the countdown, we were too wrapped up in our thoughts to be paying attention."

"…_10 …9 …8 …7 …6 …5 …4 …3 …2 …1, Happy New Year_," shouted everyone in the club, before the DJ turned up the music again and everyone started dancing around.

Troy and I quickly turn back to each other. "I uh, better go find my friends, maybe I'll see you 'round Troy," I say, getting up and grabbing my unfinished beer.

"Wait," he calls out, grabbing my wrist. "It's only fair that you get my number," he states cheekily.

I smile nervously at him and nod, rummaging around in my pockets before my hands surfaced with my iPhone. I hand it over to Troy, "You know how to work these?"

He rolls his eyes at me, "Yes, I do live in the 21st century."

I giggle, "Just makin' sure, some of my friends and coworkers look at me like I'm nuts when I hand it over to them."

Troy nods and absentmindedly reaches into his back pocket handing a Blackberry over to me, "Put your number in." I open my mouth to tell him he already has it, but he interrupts me. "I want your personal number, not your publisher's one."

"Actually, it's my personal assistant's, but, you know whatevs."

Troy rolls his eyes, a smile forming on his face, as we both enter in our contact information and snap a quick picture, before handing back the phone to its rightful owner.

"It was nice to meet you Gabriella," Troy tells me, as I start to edge away.

I nod and smile at him, "Likewise Troy."

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Review please, I love reviews. They make me happy :) BTW: In like two weeks, things should mellow out so updates won't be as sporadic!


	4. Skeletons in the Closet

**A/N:** New Update, Yay! Congrats to **Coachlover18 **and **Greentopak **for catching the Sex and the City vibe, yes the first few chappies were like SATC, but the rest of _Labels or Love?_ most likely varies a lot from the TV show. All I've seen is the Movie and first episode of SATC. This is much more complicated - or at least that's what I'm assuming - than SATC. For all my Rylsi followers, you guys are gonna have to wait a couple more chappies for those two to even meet, sorry. I love 'em too, but this is all in Gabriella's point of view. Secondly, if anyone here knows CSI: NY is, I would like to let you know I have blended the universe of High School Musical with it. You don't have to have seen the show to understand this chapter. But if you have, there are multiple references to the show here. For the sake of making the character of Gabriella a little different, this chapter explains her background. Please, I love to hear from you guys, but if you hate this chapter don't come at me with pitchforks and flames!

**Special Thanks To**: _headstrongbears, letsbehappy, abovecitylights, coachlover18, greentopak, 12superstar, krfan, starry3y3dangel, rkfollower, Dramione x3, Cassie Faith, and mandylikewhoaaaa_

**FYI**: All mistakes are mine, no beta and my BFF's aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer**: All I own is the bubble that I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

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**Labels or Love?**

**Chapter 3**

_Your strength is what made me strong, you held me and I held on – Jennifer Hudson_

_When push comes to shove you taste what you're made of...On your knees you look up decide you've had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands shake it off, then you stand... - Rascal Flatts_

~*~*~

I hate tourists. That is the only thought running through my sleep-deprived mind on the Monday following New Years as I weave in and out of the throng of people on the crowded Manhattan street. My cappuccino from Starbucks and the new Burberry trench that Sharpay insisted that I buy last Wednesday is definitely not helping me see the silver lining in what is turning out the be a crappy day.

Heading toward the intersection of Broadway and Reade Street, I groan at the sight of a gathered group of people intermingling with police cars – both squads and unmarked sedans. "Come on," I hear myself yell agitatedly as I push my way through the crowd, not bothering to say 'Excuse me,' like I normally do. Hell bent of avoiding the gawkers in front of a person's murder scene; I make it halfway through the sea of people before I hear someone calling out my name – well last name.

"_Hey! Montez, hold up!"_

Turning around, my curls blowing in my face, I grin up at the sight of Donald Flack Jr. Six foot two, lean, but at the same time muscular, with piercing ice blue eyes, a killer smirk on his face and looking mighty smart in his black suit, grey and light blue striped tie, actually matching his choice of clothing for the first time in his life. He is behind the bright yellow tape, but is motioning with his small notebook to come over. Sighing, I decide to approach him.

"Hey Detective," I greet, scrunching up my nose at the smell of death.

"Took you long enough," mutters Don as he ducks under the tape. He waves his hand to get the attention of a blonde-haired man I instantly recognize as Detective Danny Messer, pointing at me and then the Starbucks across the street. Danny nods, waves a hand in greeting towards me, and returns to photographing the crime scene.

"You do realize that I already have my Starbucks," I tease Don as he guides me through the crowd of people.

I watch him roll his eyes. "Wiseass, you don't think I missed that huge cup of coffee in your hands?" he counters easily in his Queens accent. "I'm the one who needs coffee. Been at that frickin' scene since 5 am."

I smile sympathetically at him, "Aw, poor Donnie." I pause, "In that case coffee on me for both you and Dan." Don just throws me his signature smirk before throwing his arm around my shoulders as we walk into the busy coffee shop.

Pushing thirty-four, Don is one of the best homicide detectives on the New York Police Department. His dad, Donald Flack Sr., is nothing short of a legacy in the NYPD and was my dad's partner. He and I spent every one of our formative years together in Middle Village, Queens either at 'family' dinners or goofing off together at the local park. He and I were and still are inseparable. Out of my group of girl friends, I am the one who fought to get to where I am now the most. Dad was a cop and Mom worked at the local high school as a biology teacher, neither got paid really well, unlike my other friends who were rolling in cash. My parents scraped up the funds to send me to a private school in Manhattan to give me the 'right' kind of education, while Don and his younger sister, Samantha, were sent to our neighborhood catholic school – which bugged the hell out of Don. I got by at East Side Academy on multiple scholarships. Sharpay, Taylor, and Kelsi never knew that, but Don did; he understood where I was coming from, guided me where my girl friends failed. Dad died when I eleven and it was Don who was there for me, the fellow cop kid. While Taylor, Sharpay, and Kelsi awkwardly tried to comfort me as I mourned the death of my hero, Don let me sob on his shoulder, his blue eyes never wavered from mine as he held me at Dad's funeral, in fact, he and Sam had been at my house when Flack Sr. and the Chief of Detectives came to my house and told Mom and I that Dad had died, Don had held me as I broke down. It's funny, Sam was my age _and_ a girl, but it was Don, the hockey and basketball playing guy who happened to be three years older than me, who I was best friends with. He protects me, makes me feel like I can accomplish anything. With that _don't-give-that-crap_ stance he has, Don took care of me while Mom struggled with coming to terms with Dad's death. Whenever things get bad for either of us, the other is always there. Underneath the brash, sarcastic, arrogant, and witty homicide detective is an amazing, caring gentleman. Course, he'd murder me if I ever decide to spill the beans to his coworkers.

"So what's new with you?" I ask conversationally.

Don shrugs and takes a long sip of his coffee – regular, strong, and black –, "Not much, work's murder, been pullin' doubles and triples these last few weeks." He pauses and I nod encouragingly. "Been off and on with this girl, but she's not quite workin' for me y'know…" he trails off and stops, again taking a long sip of coffee. "Oh, and been playin' with little Alexia, Danny and Linds baby girl." I smile again. Danny and Detective Lindsay Monroe – excuse me – Messer, had welcomed little Alexia Rose in May this past year. Both work with Don for the NYPD, but they are CSIs instead of with homicide. Danny is Don's best friend and from the moment, Lindsay transferred from Bozeman, Montana to the Big Apple I had taken an instant liking to the country girl.

"How's baby Messer doin'?" I ask eagerly, always ready for the scoop on my goddaughter.

"Ask the proud daddy yourself," laughs Don as we watch Danny stroll into the Starbucks. Danny is a little shorter than Don and well-built with messy dirty-blonde hair and a ready smile. Today he is wearing dark-wash jeans with a green polo, and his trademark black Converse.

I whistle to get the attention of Danny. He nods, pays for his drink, and heads to the back booth. "Hey Mess," I greet.

"Montez," he acknowledges, tossing his sunglasses on the Formica table. "How's our favorite author?"

"Doin' good," I nod. "How's our favorite little family?"

I watch as Danny's face lights up, just like it always does when he talks about his girls. "They're great. Lexie loved her present, although I doubt she was aware of why she was getting' it," he says in his thick Staten Island accent.

"Aw too bad," grins Don. "There's only, what, seventeen more Christmases for your little girl to be spoiled rotten."

Danny rolls his eyes as he unfolds the latest edition of the _New York Times_ muttering, "Death, destruction, politics, and closed that case," under his breath.

I squeal as he stops at Page Six. "Hand it over, now!" I demand.

Danny furrows his eyebrows at me, his electric blue eyes questioning. _Why the hell do all the guys I happen to hang out with have the most amazing blue eyes? First Don, then Danny, and now Troy_, I think as I snatch Page Six out of Danny's hands. I skip over the articles regarding Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer, the Mayor's mistress, and the latest heartbroken _Bachelor _contestant, immediately zoning in on the one regarding New Year's Eve, hoping Sharpay or Kelsi are mentioned, only to gasp as a picture of myself and Troy stares back at me – the headline reading **New York's Romantic Socialite Writing Her Own Happily-Ever-After?**

Don reads over my shoulder. "I didn't know you were datin' Troy Bolton," he remarks after reading the short paragraph.

"What?" exclaims Danny as he grabs the magazine from my limp hands and quickly scans the captioned photo. "You and Bolton?"

I shake my head slowly, trying to determine why his full name was so familiar, my mouth moves, mouthing the words 'Troy' and 'Bolton' without actually voicing the sounds.

"You don't know who he is?" asks Danny incredulously.

I frown slightly, "I think I should know it."

"Did you even read the piece?" asks Don, I can tell he is rolling his eyes.

I shake my head again, "What's he known for?"

"My God," I hear Danny exclaim. "You hang wit' the guys all the time, even if you do happen to live on the Upper East Side and ya don't remember who Troy frickin' Bolton is?"

"No," I reveal resignedly. "Please tell me before you two blow up."

Danny snorts and shoves the magazine back into my outstretched hands. "Read it and weep Montez."

Sighing, I glance over the paragraph.

_New Year's Eve. While most of NYC's known socialites are off partying with a guy, Miss Gabriella Montez was seen enjoying a few drinks with the Knick's point guard and star player, Troy Bolton, before the clocks chimed midnight. Could Happily-Ever-After be in the future for Cinderella and Prince Charming? Hm, they look pretty cozy there. I wonder if Gabriella will write a tell-all on NYC's most eligible bachelor…_

My mind is working overtime as I process this new information. _The Knick's star player…_ that one line jumps at me the most. I can't believe I missed the fact that he was_ the_ Troy Bolton. I have watched enough basketball games with Don and Danny to know what Troy Bolton did for a living, but still…

"He looks way different off the court," I hear myself remark to Don and Danny. Both burst out laughing at the point and it takes a few moments for them to recover.

"You find out your new guy is Troy Bolton and all you can say is he looks different off court?" laughs Danny.

"Pretty much," I say grinning as I thumb through the rest of the celebrity spottings.

"So when were you gonna tell us you're datin' Troy Bolton," asks Don conversationally.

"Never," I tell him. Glancing up from my spot on an article about how to improve your sex life, I find Don and Danny gaping at me. "What?" I groan.

"You were gonna make us read the tabloids?" Don mock-gasps. "But we're your best friends."

I roll my eyes, "I'm not datin' Troy Bolton. I just met him last night when Tay and Shar ditched me to grind against a few guys."

"Oh I see," teases Don. "You two are just testin' the waters."

"We're acquaintances," I say.

"Sure," I hear Don snort next to me as he downs the last of his coffee. Danny just rolls his eyes and returns to the articles regarding the failing economy. "Friends with benefits," mutters Don under his breath.

With that I punch him in the arm, "Bastard."

Danny laughs and Don grins at me, "I was jokin' Montez. No need to get offended."

"Why the hell do I hang with you two again?"

"Cause, you can't get enough of us?" offers Danny.

"Lay off, you're married," I remind.

"Damn," he dead-pans.

Don pulls me into a one-arm hug. "Without us you'd be in deep shit."

"And I don't get into enough deep shit with the two of you?"

"That's cruel Montez," laughs Danny.

Don just pushes back my bangs from my face, "It's the same reason why I'm still your bestest friend from Queens even though I know you, Taylor, Sharpay, and Kelsi are a tight-knit group with all your girlie crap."

I turn my question gaze upon him, even though my brown eyes were twinkling at his use of my childhood term for him.

He continues with a shrug. "You're not one of them socialites no matter if that's what the tabloids deem you as. You just go with Taylor, Sharpay, and Kelsi cause you're a good friend. But seriously Brie, I know you aren't one to continually party and spend money. You were raised with better morals; well you were raised in the normal world and got thrust into the socialite world. Without us, you'd be stuck in that torture with no way of gettin' out. Don't deny the fact that it drives you crazy as hell at times. Don't you dare pull that shit with me Gabriella Montez," he playfully warns me.

I feel like this conversation should be taking place at the local cop watering hole, Sullivan's, with each of us having a beer in our hands and playing a quick round of pool as we talk about the day we've had instead of at Starbucks over lattes and little snacks. He's right though. During my childhood years, my life at East Side was always separate from my life at home. My friends were never really invited to my little brownstone and I felt awkward walking into their beautiful homes or fancy penthouses. I worked my ass off to keep my double life separate, doing multiple odd jobs to pay for designer bags and shoes. Don was the one who helped bridge the gap between the two worlds and over time, 'that' life has become my life with my after-shift drink with Don and Danny becoming the 'that' life.

I sigh tiredly, "Truthfully, I'm tired Don." He looks at me sympathetically, his light blue eyes radiating concern. "You're right as usual. That life of continually bein' in the spotlight with the three of them is startin' to take a toll on me, but I love 'em. You know that. Sure, at first, I worked my ass off to be in their league, but as time has progressed, it doesn't matter as much."

"Doesn't hurt to have the money to waste," supplies Danny.

I nod uncomfortably, "I have no idea what the hell to do with all that money."

Don laughs, "I'll take it. My landlord's raised the rent and I don't see a raise in the near future."

"You can have it," I say seriously reaching into my Fendi to pull out my checkbook. "My condo's paid off, I have no debt, whatever, take some."

"I was kiddin' Brie."

"But I'm not."

I feel Don reach over and push my checkbook back into my purse. He shakes his head, mouthing 'no' to me. My eyes plead with him but he gives me another miniscule shake of his head. "I said no Brie, I don't need any money. Don't worry about me. I know what you've been doin' and that's enough." I fake confusion while Don cocks an eyebrow at me. "My medical bills from the blast?" he prompts. I blush slightly. "I know you've been payin' them off. Thank you, but you don't have to pay for my apartment too."

"Alright," I sigh, releasing the checkbook and folding my arms across my chest.

"That's my girl," grins Don as he gives me a quick kiss to the forehead and then checks his watch. "We should probably get goin' Dan."

Danny nods as he drains the last of his coffee and grabs his sunglasses. We all stand up and head back out to the urban jungle.

"You need a ride Brie?" asks Don as we stop in front of Danny's Avalanche and Don's Buick.

"Yeah, can you drop me off at Kelsi's place?"

"You got it," nods Don. "I'll be just a sec, lemme clear the scene," he calls over his shoulder running to an officer standing by the taped off area.

"I'll see ya later Montez," says Danny as he hops in the truck. "Sullivan's round 9?"

I hesitate, "I dunno Dan, Shar leaves tomorrow. We were hopin' to get together tonight."

"Just come over after you're done," he pleads. "Adam's agreed to baby sit so Linds'll be there."

I smile, "Ok, I'll try. No promises."

Danny grins and waves before he drives away into the traffic of mid-town Manhattan.

I open the passenger door and slide into Don's car, just as he returns and starts the engine.

"So," he says.

"So," I reply.

"What's Troy Bolton like?"

I feel my jaw drop and turn to look at him, his dimples are on full display as he grins cheekily at me. "You ass," I mutter.

"No seriously, what's he like?"

"Drive Flack."

"Ouch, last name punishment."

"Just drive."

"You got it boss," he says with a fake salute while I just roll my eyes.

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So... what'd you think? Love it? Hate it? Tell me please!


	5. Regrets and Hope

**A/N:** You know those ads where they say 'New Look, Same Product' - yeah that's the deal with _Labels or Love?_ The summary I started out with is definitely not what the story is like, so ta-da new summary. BTW: I'd thank **Laugh-Dance-Love **for PMing me about updating :) I'm actually on Spring Break now, so hopefully many more chapters will get written, I've just been so busy that I've neglected this wonderful story. But here's the next chappie - I hope you guys enjoy :)

**New Summary:** A romantic socialite or 'Just One Of The Guys'… Gabriella Montez knows both worlds well, but when they start to mesh together with the unknowing help of a new beau, will she have to choose which one is more important to her? Or will the two worlds cease to exist after reality cashes in? In the city that never sleeps, four young women is about to learn the true meaning of 'happily-ever-after'. But, one may have to give up some things if her fairytale has any hope of coming true...

**Special Thanks to:** _wishing on__paper stars, unknownbyhim22, magaret09, Laugh-Dance-Love, rkfollower, 12superstar, RolandCarros, TwinkleXSparkle, and supastarby9._

**Special Welcomes to: **_rwf05, magaret09, milo0023, unknownbyhim22, Em0710, RolandCarros, mimimk123, and Savannah O'Ryan_

**FYI**: All mistakes are mine, no beta and my BFF's aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer**: All I own is the bubble that I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

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_**Labels or Love?**_

**Chapter 4**

_I know how it feels believe me, I've been there, I know what it feels like… oh Kelsey__I'm always here for you – Metro Station_

_This much I know is true... That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you – Rascal Flatts_

~*~*~

"Open the frickin' door Kelsi," I yell for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of under five minutes. Mentally cursing the fact that I forgot my spare key to her apartment, I curl my left hand into a fist and bang on Kelsi's apartment door again. Once again thanking the gods that Kelsi has enough money to own the entire floor I pound on the door and scream at the top of my lungs, "Kelsi Amelia Neilson, get your ass to your front door and let me in or I will call the fuckin' NYPD and have them break down your door."

_That should do it_, I think as I hear the shuffling of feet on hardwood. Smiling triumphantly, I tuck a strand of hair behind my left ear, remove my sunglasses, and prepare to grab Kelsi and go. Of course, like always, reality has different plans. Opening the door, my best friend is dressed in a pair of baggy _Pink_ sweatpants, a black tank top, her light brown curls tied up in a bun – half of it falling out – and her hazel eyes are bloodshot, tears staining her cheeks. Immediately dropping the perky attitude, I rush into the spacious loft and grab Kelsi into a hug. I feel her body wrack with tears. I move us awkwardly through the living room and onto a couch, dropping my bag somewhere along the way and snagging the box of tissues on the kitchen counter next to a bottle of wine – 1973 Bordeaux, if the nose is right – I sit the two of us on one of the three couches in the room.

"What happened?" I ask concernedly. "Did someone die?"

Kelsi looks at me strangely. _Right_, they aren't cop kids and friends of cops, their minds don't jump to the worse possible conclusion, my brain screams at me. Mentally kicking myself, I calmly tuck of a strand of hair behind Kelsi's right ear and give her a small smile. She takes my proffered box of tissue and takes one out to dab at her eyes.

"It didn't work out," she whispers through tears.

"What didn't work? The show?"

Kelsi shakes her head. "No, Jason. He wasn't interested in anything long term. He said he had seen me on the Broadway circuit but is only looking for sex." She laughs bitterly. "Can you believe I fell for that?"

"Oh honey," I say. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I know how much you wanted this one to work."

Sniffling, Kelsi just leans on my shoulder. I feel her hot tears seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt. Soothingly rubbing circles on Kelsi's back, I whisper reassuring statements in her ear. We stay like that for a good fifteen minutes, until Kelsi's tears subside and she can sit up again.

"You want me to call Shar and tell her we can't make it?" I ask pulling out my phone.

Kelsi shakes her head again. "She leaves tonight; I know you want to see her again."

"I can see her whenever, you need a shoulder to cry on."

"No I don't, I've cried since New Years, I'm cried out. I want a drink anyways."

I raise my eyebrows.

"What?" Kelsi asks innocently.

"I can smell the alcohol in your breath."

"What?"

"You've drank a lot, if I can smell alcohol in your breath and all you've drank is wine," I whistle. "It'd be different if it was me. Y'know I like the hard stuff, but you, Shar, and Tay can't stand beer and scotch. So theoretically, wine is what you've drowned your sorrows in."

"I've had a few drinks yeah, who doesn't?"

"How can you drink that much and not be hammered?"

"No idea," mutters Kelsi. "Come on; let's just get ready to get this over with."

I nod as both of us get up off Kelsi's suede couch. I follow Kelsi past the guest bedroom, kitchen, music room, and into the master suite.

"What time is it?" Kelsi asks suddenly as she runs off to her bathroom.

I shrug even though she cannot see me as I check my phone. "One pm," I call out.

"What time are we supposed to meet them?"

"Two o'clock over at Michael's." _Michael's_ is well-known, upscale New York restaurant and just so happens to be Sharpay's favorite place to wine and dine; of course, it might have something to do with the fact that there is a restaurant both here and in California. Personally, I like going to out of the way, New York Local spots, not mainstream elite place, but that's just me – the Socialite who's better suited for commoner life.

"I thought you and I could head over and have a quick drink. But considering the fact that you've had enough for awhile maybe we can just chat a little," I yell out as I grab the latest _Vogue _from Kelsi's beside table.

"I don't care. That works, I'm more hungry than thirsty anyways.

_For good reason, _I think. Then I call out,_ "_Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"What?" Kelsi asks – again.

"Why didn't you call me when it happened you know I would've come over and bitched about the guy for you?"

"I don't know." Kelsi's soft reply floated from the walk-in closet over to where I was sitting cross-legged on her plush queen-sized bed. "You're always with the family after New Years so I just thought I wouldn't bother you. And anyways, you've tended to too many of our broken hearts, I thought I'd just cry this one out by myself this time."

"You know I don't mind being the burdened one."

"Yeah, but I thought you deserved the family time."

"My mom lives in New York it's not like I couldn't see her again."

"But aren't you always busy New Year's Day with some family gathering?"

I nod even though she cannot see me. In truth, my mom and I head over to the Flack's place to celebrate the holidays. Over the years, people had been added and subtracted to the bunch. Don's older brother, Tony, normally makes the trek from D.C. to New York with his wife, Marissa and their two sons. Samantha comes and goes, she used to always come, but lately things have been rocky. Then there's Danny. When Danny had first met with Don, they'd meshed well and as time has progressed Don's considered the Staten Island native a brother. Don and I had invited Danny over once a good seven or eight years ago and he's always come back with us. Normally, while the rest of the group is talking and reminiscing, Danny, Don, and I are getting drunk and playing pool. This year, Danny opted out to spend New Year's with his daughter and wife, loser because Don and I had said Lindsay and the baby could come to. I guess Kelsi's right – I'd hate to miss that tradition. If she'd have called that day crying over the fact that all the Bachelor wanted was sex, I would have told Don he would be going in for work that day.

"Gabi?" asks Kelsi as I jolt out of my reverie.

"Hm?"

"You okay? You've been staring into space for the past three minutes."

"Oh, sorry. You ready to go?"

"Yeah, just lemme –" Kelsi stops as my cell phone starts singing Nickelback's _Shakin' Hands_.

"Sorry, one sec Kels," I say as I fumble with my iPhone. Without even looking at the picture I know who it is. The idiot had programmed the song as his ringtone the night he had crashed at my place over two years ago after a major blowout with his girlfriend and I never had the guts to change it to something more respectable – personally, I like the song.

"Hey Mess," I greet blowing my bangs out of my face. These are the times that are tricky. The times where my two lives meet, even if it is only for a brief moment. "What's up?"

"_God help me,"_ floats Danny Messer's voice over my phone's speaker.

"What happened? Your perp an ass or somethin'?" I ask. For some obscene reason my Queens accent is thicker when I hang with the guys.

"_Nah, left Flack to deal with the issue of notifying the parents. No, this is worse than a perp, Linds left an hour ago for the start of her shift and since then, her daughter has not shut up."_

"She's your daughter too," I point out as Kelsi and I exit the loft, the elevator doors make a soft whooshing sound as they open and close shut.

"_Yeah, when she's my little princess. When's she like this she's all Lindsay."_

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and laugh. "And pray, Dan, what would you like me to do?"

"_Could you sing?"_

"What the hell?" I ask. Kelsi shoots me an odd look; I ignore her, focusing more on my conversation with Danny. "You want me to what now?"

"_Sing, pretty, pretty please?"_

"Is Danny Messer beggin'?" I tease.

"_Yes, yes he is, 'cause he's desperate. So for me Manhattan?"_

"What's up with you and fuckin' nicknames Mess? First Montana, then Manhattan? What the hell kinda name is Manhattan?"

"_Same as Montana, so come on Brie…"_ pleads Danny.

"Fine," I huff. "Whadaya want me to sing?"

"_Don't matter, but it should shut her up."_

"You're nice."

"_It's what I aim for."_

I sigh as my brain runs through every tune stored in my memory before finally settling on a good ol' fashioned country tune. "Hold your cell by your daughter," I instruct.

"_A'right,"_ answers Danny as I hear a rustle from the speaker.

Taking a deep breath as Kelsi and I make our way across the complex's garage I start to sing, "_Every long lost dream led me to where you are…__ o__thers who broke my heart they were like Northern stars pointing me on my way into your loving arms… this much I know is true… that God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you… I think about the years I spent just passing through… I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you but you just smile and take my hand, you've been there you understand… It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true…" _I trail off. "She quiet?"

"_She's asleep. Thanks Brie,"_ Danny whispers.

"Anytime," I whisper back as we hang up. I glance out of the car window, watching as the cars and buildings pass by, before Kelsi's voice brings me back to the present.

"I forgot how good of a singer you are," Kelsi says awkwardly.

"Hm, oh yeah," I mumble. I would always sing before Dad died. I had actually said that I would become a famous singer when I was younger, and then he died and I was lost. I didn't want to sing anymore because he wasn't there to watch me and applaud, so I just kept my talent a secret. Kelsi, Taylor, and Sharpay forgot about my singing as time passed. Don, though, would always persuade me to perform off and on, Danny only learned of my abilities after a certain drunken night that lead me to singing a rendition of God knows what song on top of the bar at Sullivan's.

"You should try for a demo," Kelsi says.

I shake my head. _Oh, hell no_, _I do not need more publicity. I get enough for my books and hanging out with famous people, that's enough_. "I think I'll stick to writing."

"But that was so good," gushes Kelsi.

"What happened to oh-Jason-only-wanted-sex sad Kelsi?" I ask at a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"I told you, I'm cried out. Anyways who's the guy you're talking to?"

"Just a friend," I say mysteriously. "You don't know him."

"Obviously," states Kelsi as she pulls into one of the many parking garages that line 55th street. "Is he cute?"

_Yes_, I hear my mind scream. _Cute_ _doesn't even begin to describe Danny Messer_. Instead I hear myself saying, "He's married."

"Oh," Kelsi replies before slipping into a silence. A few moments later, as we exit the car and head to the restaurant, she speaks again, "You do know that we know you have friends other than us."

"What do you mean?" I ask playing dumb.

"It's no secret that you have other friends you hang out with, we're just curious, It's not like we're gonna say you can't hang out with them."

_Really_, _I beg to differ_. "It doesn't matter," I say. "You're right, I have other friends. Other, _really_ good friends – people I consider a second family at times. But regardless, you and Shar and Tay are my best friends so it doesn't matter. You guys are special just like they're special." We fall silent again, there hasn't been silences like this between me and one of my friends in years.

"I heard about you and Troy Bolton," Kelsi remarks as we enter the restaurant and search for a familiar face.

"Has everyone except I heard this rumor that I'm dating star Knicks player, Troy Bolton?"

"I guess so," I hear a voice behind me comment. Not recognizing the voice, I turn around and laugh at the sight of Ryan Evans dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans, a bright white oxford with blue pinstripes, one of his trademark hats – this one a blue fedora the same color as the pinstripes – covering his blonde hair. Green eyes stare back at me, as I run up to his tall and lanky frame to engulf into a hug.

"Ryan, oh my God," I exclaim. "It's been too long."

Ryan laughs, "Hey Gabs, we talked last week."

"Too long," I mumble as I hug him just a tad longer, before releasing him. "When Shar said she had a surprise, I had no idea she meant you were in New York for a visit." These past few years, Ryan Evans has traveled the world to assist different theaters and performers with their choreography. First he was in New York on Broadway, then Las Vegas for a few shows, then London, then Hollywood, then back to Las Vegas, he's been everywhere and I'll admit that I've missed him. Once again, due to the tomboy in me…

"That's not half of the surprise," Ryan reveals as he waves to Kelsi. "Hey Kels, long time no see."

I watch as Kelsi nods nervously and slowly approaches us. "Hey Ryan," she squeaks.

I once again attempt not to roll my eyes. Ever since senior year when Ryan had taken Kelsi to prom, she has had a school-girl crush on Ryan. I'll be the first to admit that they make a cute couple and have great chemistry, but they both fail in the 'acting out' part of relationships. I've tried countless times to hook them up, but they always seem to fall through.

I observe as Ryan gives Kelsi a warm hug before ushering the both of us into the restaurant to a booth in the back. "Shar and Tay are both running late," he tells us. "So in the meantime, how 'bout the three of us catch up."

"Sounds good to me," I state. Kelsi just squeaks, this time I roll my eyes – I just can't help it.

"Alright," grins Ryan as he rubs his hands together. "A Heineken for Miss Montez, a glass of Merlot for Miss Nielson, and a scotch on the rocks for me," Ryan tells the waiter.

"Good memory," I tease him.

"It's not that hard, you're the only girl I know who drinks beer and Kelsi, Shar, and Taylor all drink the same thing," he states as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

"Whatever, Mr. Choreographer. So what's new with you?"

"Not much," Ryan says. "Except that I got offered to work with some of the Broadway shows."

I squeak. "You're back in New York?"

"Yep," he says tipping his hat.

"Oh my God that's awesome," I exclaim.

"Yeah, my guys said that this new production is looking for a choreographer. A show called _Twinkle Towne_."

Kelsi gags on her Merlot, I laugh out loud. _Yes! Here's a chance for Miss Nielson to actually have a decent guy._

"_Twinkle Towne_?" squeaks Kelsi.

"Yeah," remarks Ryan. "Have you heard of it?"

"I'm the composer of the show," whispers Kelsi shyly.

"No way," exclaims a grinning Ryan.

"Yes way," Kelsi counters back.

"That's awesome, now we get to work together just like in High School."

Kelsi nods.

"This is awesome you guys," I remark. "_Twinkle Towne_ is gonna be the best show on Broadway. I can just feel it."

Ryan and Kelsi nod, not really paying attention to me and I roll my eyes – again. _I have a feeling this lunch is going to turn out much differently than planned_, I muse as my phone starts singing again. _Shit_. I search through my purse thankful I changed my ringtone from Lifehouse to Carrie Underwood. _It better not be Danny again_, I think until my phone finally shuts up. Glancing around, I see a few patrons looking at me weirdly while Ryan and Kelsi are completely oblivious to everything around them. Blowing out an aggravated breath I slide open my new text message.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton **

_Oh great_, I think.

**Hey Ella,** – That's a new nickname, sort of, I think as tears start to prick in my eyes. That was Dad's name for me – **I can c u, but can u c me**?

"He's here," I groan.

"Who's here?" asks Kelsi.

_Whoops_, did not mean to say that out loud. "Oh, no one, just talkin' to myself."

My phone sings again, but this time I shut it up (and put it one vibrate).

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Come on detective, can't u solve this problem? Come and have lunch w/ me…**

I bite the inside of my lip, before tapping out my response.

_Hey bball star, can't sorry, having lunch with friends. U have my number, ask me out properly._

Reading it over, I nod to myself as I hit send. His response is instantaneous.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Oh so I can ask u out? I didn't kno if I could or not.**

I laugh, my response is easy.

_Wiseass._

I tap my fingers on the tabletop as I wait for his response.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Friday, 7 pm. I'll pick u up.**

Now, I am worried. This was supposed to be just a flirty relationship. A once in a while meet and greet – right? Just because we have exchanged texts here and there since New Year's, it doesn't mean he's boyfriend material. I check my phone, knowing he's getting impatient.

_Don't u have a game on fri?_ I tap out, before hitting send.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
****It's in the afternoon, please??? **Is his immediate reply. My phone vibrates again.** I kno u want to say yes :)**

_I have to check my schedule. _

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Ur free – I have ur assistants number remember…**

I can just imagine a smug look upon his good-looking face.

_Just because, you have her number doesn't mean she has my entire schedule. Where would we go anyway?_

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Ur choice, I don't care. Surprise me Ella.**

Here's my chance to see if he's worthy. Never has a guy been shown my 'other life'. I like to keep them separate. Normally I date in the socialite world, but over these last few days full of texts, Troy seems to be different like the fact that he is famous does not inflate his ego. Plus, he seems to pull off 'Ella' well. I tap my fingers on my phone again, before freezing them in a position to type out my response.

"Gabs?" a voice asks jolting me back to the present. I look up to see that Sharpay and Taylor have joined the group.

"Hey guys," I greet. "Sorry, just uh, lemme finish this. It's from Josh," I lie.

"Whatevs," says Sharpay. While the other three glance at me awkwardly.

"I'll be a few more seconds, I just gotta shake him."

_Fine, hope ur good with a local bar and some pool._

My phone vibrates in record time.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Huh?**

Rolling my eyes, I quickly reply.

_My guy has to be able to play a good game and not care about their image – can u handle that?_

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Just like u, I'm full of surprises. Bring it Ella. So is that a yes we are going out on Friday?**

_OMG, yes Troy Bolton, we are going out on fri. Now I really have to go._

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Bye, Ella. I'll be waiting… Remember – I can still c u.**

_R u sure ur not a stalker?_

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Lol, bye…**

"Alright guys," I say turning back to the four of them. "Sorry, Josh is insistent about getting my chapter in."

"It's cool," assures Taylor, before she turns to Ryan. I blow my bangs out of my face, once again finding myself wishing that I had taken Don up on the offer to take the CSI field test instead of throwing away my B.S. in Chemistry to use my minor in writing.

* * *

So... what did you guys think? Is this story totally screwed up? Or are you guys really interested in what happens next? I'd love to know - signing off now.


	6. What Was I Thinking?

**A/N:** Oh my God... Boy do I feel accomplished. Here's another update in the world of _Labels or Love?_ And for all of you looking for the date, I'm sorry to disappoint, well actually, I don't 'cause I'm the writer and what I say (actually write) goes, but don't worry, next chapter will be the free-for-all in Troyella world. But anyways, enjoy ladies (and if there are gentlemen...)

**Special Thanks to:** _..Seraphina.x._, _magaret09_, _unknownbyhim22_, _Laugh-Dance-Love_, _rkfollower_, _Noelle82_, and _12superstar_

**Special Welcomes to:** _..Seraphina.x. and wickedd cool. _

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

**_Labels or Love?_**

**Chapter 5**

_Call it an angel, call it a muse…_ _What's the difference? What's in name? What matters most is never ever losin' faith 'cause it's gonna be alright… You're not alone tonight… – Keith Urban_

_I'm gonna stop lookin' back and start movin' on… Learn how to face my fears, love with all of my heart, make my mark, I wanna leave something here… - Rascal Flatts_

~*~*~

"I'm in deep shit," I announce as I walk through the halls of the New York Police Department's Crime Lab and into the office of Detectives Danny and Lindsay Messer. The latter glances up at me with a bemused expression on her face. Ignoring the strange looks from lab techs and officers, I plop down in the seat opposite Lindsay's desk and look over at the petite brunette.

The same height as my 5'3" with amber eyes and a 'light-up-the-room' smile, Lindsay has become my go-to-girl for advice since she moved from Bozeman, Montana a little over five years ago. As usual, the new mommy's attire was professional/casual: black slacks with a pink blouse over a white tank top paired with black heels. Her caramel colored hair, once full of beautiful curls, is now a simplistic bob with side bangs – much easier to handle with a baby in the house, she tells me.

"When are you not in deep shit?" teases Lindsay as she closes a tan folder with the words NYPD stamped on the cover.

"Haha, good point but this time Don, Dan, and I aren't running for cover, this time I've managed to screw up all on my own," I sigh as I finger the picture on Danny's desk of Alexia. "You read the tabloids?"

"Mhm, yeah, I have time to catch up on the gossip of the world in-between caring for a 8-month old baby, a husband with cleanliness issues, my wacky-ass job, and obtaining a few hours of sleep," deadpans Lindsay.

I snort, "Alright, alright, I gotcha. But seriously, has Danny told you of my latest issue? Or is he being a good friend and not spilling the beans?"

"If you're talking about your whole relationship with Troy Bolton, then I definitely know about that," assures Lindsay as she sits up straight in her office chair and taps her pen against the glass desk. "I have yet to get the scoop on this tidbit, so spill."

"We met on New Year's Eve, nothin' special right? I mean we're at _Prowl_, celebrity central. Sharpay and Taylor are dancin' and I'm havin' a beer or two, and then he just strikes up conversation and like an idiot I continue it." Lindsay nods as if I'm a witness in a case she's working on. I continue. "Clocks chime midnight, we exchange numbers, and I leave. Next day, while I'm at the Flacks, I get a text from him and we're at it until 1 am. Following day, he's practically non-existent – course, now I know he had practice that day. Then through the weekend to today, we've just talked or texted and on Monday, he asked me out and gave the choice of where to go and guess what I picked Sullivan's."

Lindsay drops her pen at this point. Ignoring the clink of the instrument, she stares at me, "You invited him _where_?"

"Sullivan's" I squeak.

"You're insane," laughs Lindsay. "Certifiably insane."

"I don't wanna get caught by photographers or whatever. I just wanna hang out."

"So you invited him to a cop bar?"

"Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?" Lindsay asks shrewdly.

"I'm considerin' jumpin' off the Brooklyn Bridge. I forgot Fridays you guys are all there. No way in _hell_ will I be able to avoid the gang."

"Yeah, and it's a cop bar," repeats Lindsay. "Everyone there'll know who your guy is."

"Exactly," I say. I look up at the Montana native with pleading eyes, "You wanna help?"

Lindsay shakes her head playfully. "I want to meet the guy who's managed to catch the heart of New York's 'romantic socialite'," she air-quotes. I toss the stress ball on Danny's desk at her. "That can be considered assaulting an officer, Miss Montez," she teases.

"Then arrest me," I jokingly plead. "So much better than facing the mess I dug myself into."

"Don't you normally try to keep your two lives separate?" asks Lindsay seriously after the laughter has died down. "Bring the people from the famous world to the famous places and hang out with us at Sullivan's and Ray's or even here?"

"Yeah, normally," I say. "I don't know why I didn't follow my code of conduct."

"Cause you like him," Lindsay states simply.

"I do not like him," I huff. "I can just talk to him like I would to Danny or Don, and I don't like those two do I?"

"You have to like those two idiots, otherwise you wouldn't have spent a good portion of your life hanging with them," Lindsay points out.

Wise words from that Montana girl because truthfully, if I lived in an alternate reality, I probably would have jumped at the chance to date either guy, but in this world, I could never bring myself to that type of thought. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb. "In under three hours, I'm gonna be bringing Mr. Troy Bolton to Sullivan's and if you all are all there we will casually run into you guys and then we will leave. How does that sound?"

"As badly planned as most of the guys I put in the can for their murders. Just go with the flow," suggests Lindsay. "I'm sure that if he can talk with you without pissing you off, he'll be fine with everyone in this group."

"You think?" I ask timidly.

"Definitely," nods Lindsay, as her office phones starts to ring. "Sorry one sec Brie," Lindsay says as she reaches for the phone. "Detective Messer," she greets the other person, while gesturing to a pad of paper on Danny's desk. I nod and toss it over to her as my own cell phone starts to chirp indicating I have a new text message. Fully thinking that it is Troy I roll my eyes trying to come up with a smartass remark only to be confused as my phone blinks back:

**New TXT Message: Sharpay Evans  
Hey, back in L.A. after Albuquerque w/Daddy. I'd love to remind u all that it's a balmy 76 degrees here while it is below freezing in NYC. BTW: have fun 2nite Brie.**

I roll my eyes at Sharpay's text and deftly reply: _Have fun in the sun, while I indulge in a little NYC lovin' ttyl_

Just as Lindsay hangs up, I press send. Looking up from my phone, I grin as I catch sight of Danny walking down the hallway with another detective I know as Stella Bonasera. A good five or six inch taller than me with bright green eyes and unruly, yet gorgeous curls, Stella is the right-hand woman to the Crime Lab's boss – Mac Taylor. I wave to Danny and Stella as the pair walk into the office Lindsay and I are currently situated in.

"Well, well, well," greets Danny as pushes open the office door and tosses a pile of papers on his desk. "I believe you're in my seat Montez."

"So sorry Messer," I counter. "I was having some much needed counseling considerin' the fact that you and Don are gonna be no help tonight."

"Really," grins Danny. "That wouldn't have somethin' to do with a certain individual's date with a star basketball player now would it?"

"I don't know. You tell me, _Detective_."

"Don't gang on me Montez, I know your secrets. Remember that," he warns playfully as I stand my ground.

"You wouldn't give me up to press, now would you?" I pout, well aware that my twinkling brown eyes are deceiving my acting.

"I like you too much to throw you to the press," concedes Danny as he leans against Lindsay's desk.

"Gee, thanks," I remark sarcastically. Turning to Stella I smile widely. "Hey Stell, what's up?"

"Heard there's a sale at _Tiffany's_," grins Stella as a way of greeting. "You wanna hit the store tomorrow?"

"She might be too busy in bed with a certain Troy Bolton," Danny teases. With that I throw caution to the wind and whip the baseball on his desk at him. Deftly catching the ball, with the ease of the former shortstop that he was, he shakes his head at me, "Didn't your mom ever teach you to play nice Montez?"

I shrug nonchalantly and tweak an eyebrow, "I must've missed that lesson when Don and I were at the shootin' range with our dads."

Danny shakes his head in disbelief. "Never ceases to amaze me," he mutters, before his cell phone chirps. I watch as he expertly slides open his phone and reads the message before relaying it to Stella. "Sid's got the results on the prelim, you comin' down?"

"Can you handle it on your own Dan?" Stella asks him. Danny nods as he presses a soft kiss to Lindsay's forehead and waves to me. "Catch you later Montez. Be ready for an ass-whoopin' at Sullivan's."

"We'll see Mess," I yell at him as he disappears down the hallway.

"So what's this about Troy Bolton?" asks Stella teasingly as she grabs a spare chair in the office and sits in it.

I groan audibly, "First Don, then Danny, then Linds, and now you? _Seriously_?"

Stella nods and glances over to Lindsay, "You should know we love to indulge in water-cooler gossip. Right Linds?"

Lindsay nods playfully as both turn their attention to me. I grumble under my breath as I play around with the photos of a crime scene and results of a few tests that Danny dumped on his desk earlier. In an attempt to avoid the current topic, I play around with the photos, a sense of regret playing through my senses. I have to admit that I long to be part of the force. I always loved watching Dad get dressed for work when I was younger and have him tell me about his collars later when he got home. When Dad died I kept his badge. I still have it actually, hidden in my bedside table's drawer. I dig it out every once and a while to run a finger over the gold shield and numbers. Nowadays, I get my gruesome crime fix by just hanging around at the Crime Lab. Everyone there indulges in a case story for me when I stop by and more times than not have attempted to persuade me to join the team.

Stella and Lindsay, this time, are not interested in telling me about a homicide. Sighing I glance up and shrug. "I'll tell you guys how it goes after I've been able to actually have a date with the guy."

Stella grins, "Want us to run his name?"

I laugh, "Don's already done that and has reported that he's a clean as a whistle. Figures."

"He just doesn't want to tarnish his good image," infers Lindsay. I nod in agreement, my eyes never leaving the photos. "What is with your interest with those photos?" she asks.

I shrug again, my mind is pin-balling. What was my interest with these photos? They were the same kind of gruesome, bloody photos that I've come to associate with my friends' job. I just think that something is off I guess – those kind of hunches that is key in a mystery novel. I purse my lips and furrow my brow, "Whose case is this?"

"Why you got a lead?" teases Stella good-naturedly. To her surprise, though, I nod, and flick the photo back on the desk. "Yeah, I've seen her around at the bar on the corner of 49th and 7th, y'know that new one?" Stella and Lindsay nod in recognition, as I continue to point out the stamp on the back of her hand. "That's for V.I.P access, normally reserved for people with a room in the back, and with her make-up caked on like that I wouldn't be surprised if she's in one of the Broadway shows that rent out after-party rooms. You're probably looking for a star performer especially with those sheets of paper you found on her," I pull out the pictures of printed paper. "Those are her blocking sheets. The composer and choreographer give those to the principals." My phone chirps twice indicating two messages and bringing me back to reality.

**2 New TXT Messages**

I groan and mutter, "Return to reality," under my breath. Glancing up at Stella and Lindsay I smile ruefully. "Sorry guys, reality calls, literally and figuratively. Tell me how the case ends," I say as I grab my bag and make for the door.

"Bye," Lindsay calls out with a smile before she reopens the files on her desk. But, Stella seems to have other plans as I find her following me down the hallway.

"Hey," she says stopping me in the middle of the busy hallway. "You ever consider taking the test?"

_Every damn day of my life_, I think but instead I say, "Once, a long time ago." Waving my cell phone in her face, I give her a sad smile. "I made my choice though, and now that choice is askin' me to return to my duties. I hope I helped you guys in the right direction."

As I walk towards the elevators, Stella calls out, "There's always space on the team for you, remember that Gabriella."

I turn around and nod before disappearing into the elevator. _Maybe one day I'll take you up on that offer Stell_, I muse as I check my phone. Both messages were from Troy. _Great._

~*~*~

The taxi ride from Midtown Manhattan to my condo on the Upper East Side is quicker than normal, under twenty minutes, and now I find myself in standing in my hallway – my scruffy, dirty-blonde, mutt of a dog is wagging her tail furiously at me – with an hour and a half left to kill before I have to meet Troy for our date. Sighing, I go through my normal routine. Flood the spacious condo with lights; grab my pile of mail accumulating on the hardwood floor; refill the dog's food and water bowl; charge my cell phone; throw both my purse and jacket on the well-used couch; turn on the flat-screen television – already playing a _NCIS_ marathon; start the coffee machine. Once everything is done and I finally feel at peace in my home, panic starts to settle in. Mainly, why in the _hell_ I chose Sullivan's as the place for my first date with Troy Bolton.

"Aren't I supposed to be classy?" I find myself asking an empty home. Skittles just cocks her head and yips. I shake my head as a smile tugs at my lips. Skittles was Don and my codeword for when we hung out when we were younger. My daily planner always had 'Skittles' written on the days he and I would go somewhere. Over time the word has been used teasingly to remind of us and everyone else around us, that we go _way_ back.

Yeah, Troy Bolton is probably expecting me to tell him my text was just a joke and that we are going to _Daniel_ – a fancy, Upper East Side restaurant – and that he better get his suit pressed. Maybe I should alter the plans, forgo the relaxed vibe and do what is expected of an Upper East Sider, except – I can't bring myself to do it as I stare at my iPhone nestled carefully in my manicured hands. Something just keeps telling me to breathe around this guy, to screw the normal formalities and just have some fun. I feel Skittles pad over to the kitchen's breakfast bar that I am currently sitting at and brush her tail against my feet.

_Think Montez, think_, my brain screams at me. I bite my lip – bad habit – and exhale loudly. Slowly, my fingers type out a response.

_Don't come and pick me up just meet me at a bar called Sullivan's in midtown Manhattan, it's a local place. Jeans, T-shirt, and converse are fine – nothing fancy. I'll be at the back by the pool tables. 7 pm sharp. Don't be late Bolton._

I hit send before I can comprehend what I'm doing and become too nervous to follow through with my plan, then I jump off my barstool and head for the master bedroom.

Unlike many of the homes on the Upper East Side, my condo is a much more modest and modern abode. Sure, it's got the fancy zip code, doormen, and a magnificent view, but it's also only got two bedrooms, both on the relatively small side, one bathroom, a small yet state-of-the-art kitchen, a balcony, and a living room. Nothing fancy, unlike my friends' lofts and townhomes, but it's more me. The master bedroom is, obviously, my room. The walls are painted a soft gold with black wrought-iron furniture and black and white photos of New York City that I have taken over the years. The second bedroom is delegated as my office. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase dominates one wall and I have to admit that it is my sanctuary. The rest of the home is like any other. Pictures are scattered about, my home is far from being clean, and my refrigerator never seems to be stocked – it reminds me of my childhood home.

At the moment though, my bedroom looks like my spacious closet barfed up everything and anything, because clothes are scattered all around the place, with poor Skittles hiding under last season's Gucci coat. I told Troy jeans and sneakers, so that meant I had to follow that rule too. I love jeans, Levi Strauss is my savior for creating them, but being with my friends, wearing jeans came at a price. It is so much better to wear skirts and dresses and slacks then to wear plain, old, jeans. I survey my closet a few more times before settling on my favorite pair of skinny jeans – stone-washed and worn out perfectly – and an old, screen t-shirt from _Pink_ that I paired under an oxford shirt. Shoes were the hard part. My 5'3" cowered in comparison to Troy's 6', so heels were a must. _Simple_, I remind myself. _It's not a Sharpay show_. I grin as my eyes land on a pair of black ankle-boots with a wedged heel.

"Perfect," I mumble under my breath as I snatch them from the confines of their box and emerge from my closet. Checking the clock, I swear under my breath. _5:54 pm_. If I want to beat Troy to the bar, I have to hurry up. Running into the bathroom I mix the water in the shower, lay out my make-up, and strip. Skittles, always the curious pet, is following me around the house as I run around like a chicken with its head cut off, only pausing when my phone stars ringing.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
Alright, c u soon Ella… (I'm taking u up on the whole just jeans and a t-shirt thing, so it had better not be a joke)**

I laugh out loud at his text before running back into the bathroom. Forty minutes later, I'm hopping down my hallway trying to zip up my shoes and put my earrings in at the same time. Lucky Skittles is lounging on the couch enjoying the comedic effects of a certain Tony DiNozzo, while I am stressing over the need of finding my purse and tossing everything in it. By the time the clock reads _6:43 pm_, I'm running out the door of my building hailing a yellow cab, giving the driver the address and telling him to step on it.

* * *

What did you guys think??? I have to admit that your reviews are quickly becoming oxygen to me, I love reading what you have to say. So if you could review, I'd be one happy author :)


	7. The 'First Date'

**A/N:** Blame it on the muse mixing with the new Hannah Montana movie. The muse has decided that this story is going completely off track of what I had originally had planned, oh well, that's life. Anyways, here's the heavily awaited chapter 6... I know you guys need a little Troy and Gabriella lovin'. Thank you Laugh-Dance-Love for reminding me that people actually read this story ;) I wanted to get this chapter up before I left for a trip, so I hope you guys enjoy this date!

**Special Thanks to**: _..Seraphina.x._, _12superstar_, _Noelle82_, _Laugh-Dance-Love_, _Savannah__ O'Ryan_, _unknownbyhim22_, and _TwinkleXSparkle_

**Special Welcomes to: **_steelerfan4ever_ and _abercrombie. hollister_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs. Oh, and the nickname 'M&M' belongs to **Laurzz**, thanks!

* * *

**_Finding Your Way Back Home_**

**Chapter 6**

_In the car I just can't wait, to pick you up on our very first date… Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over. Honest, let's make this night last forever – blink-182_

_Baby, it's almost too much… I'm helplessly, hopelessly, recklessly falling in love… – Jessica Andrews_

~*~*~

Even though it is only 7 o'clock, the bar is packed with law enforcement officers and firefighters and emergency technicians all enjoying a beer and watching a taping of the earlier Knicks game. I nod to a few of the officers I know and breathe in the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and men's cologne. Familiar settings in an unfamiliar city is what Lindsay told me of the bar, I had then told her I considered this bar the closest thing to my dad, nodding to the wall full of pictures fallen 'heroes'. Expertly making my way past the bar and towards the back of the bar where a few pool tables and dart boards lay. I nod to the bartender, Frankie Wilson. "The good stuff," I tell him. "Just put it on Don's tab."

"That a good idea, Montez?" he teases me.

I shrug and give him a smile, "He'll get over it. Is anyone here yet?"

Frankie nods, "Flack and Danny, your two favorite guys."

"Great," I reply, rolling my eyes slightly, as I leave the raised, wooden bar and head to the booth in the back. Sure enough, as I reach the group's favorite table, I spy the two detectives discussing something. Both have a beer in their hand and both look like hell.

"Maybe tonight's not the best night," I say teasingly as I ease myself into one of the empty chairs at the table. Surveying the empty seats I raise an eyebrow at the two guys.

"Not everyone's off shift yet," says Danny as he takes a sip of his beer. "Where's your date?"

"He's coming, told him I'd meet him here. How's your case?"

"Better thanks to you."

"I did nothing." Both Don and Danny glare at me. "Alright, I did something, but don't start ridin' my ass about takin' the test, Stella already did and I have no intention of taking that damned thing anytime soon." _That's a flat-out lie, but who cares, it's not like they are going to call me out on it_, I think as I glare at the two of them. Neither looks convinced. _Shit_.

"Sure," grins Don. "You don't intend to take the test, just like I don't intend on walkin' out of here empty-handed." I pelt Don with a few nuts from the bowl on the table. He expertly catches each one in his mouth. I roll my eyes, he grins at me cheekily. "Thanks, Brie. But seriously, take the damned test, you can pass and not ask for the job." I raise my eyebrow at him. "A'right, a'right," he says in surrender. "I'll lay off. Only for tonight though."

I raise my hand menacingly, "Don't make me pelt you with more peanuts, Donald Flack Jr." Danny and Don laugh and I can't help but grin too. This is why I had chosen Sullivan's as the place. If something goes wrong, Don and Danny can beat the guy to a pulp and if things go well, here I feel more at ease, unlike at one of those restaurants.

"Wow, you're really on an 'assault a NYPD officer' kick today Brie," chirps Lindsay as a way of greeting as she sits down next to Danny and grabs his beer to take a large gulp.

"Hey, Linds," I greet as I try to keep my laughter from bubbling over at the face Danny made when Lindsay stole his drink. "I'm not on an 'assault a NYPD officer' kick, I'm on a 'be abusive to my best friends' kick."

"Sorry for the mix-up," teases Lindsay as she takes another sip of Danny's beer.

"What the hell Montana," he whines making the rest of us crack up with laughter. "Can't you get your own?"

"But your being a good husband," grins Lindsay. "You _can_ get another beer y'know."

"Nah," says Danny as he pries the bottle from Lindsay's small hands. "I like sharing," he says with a smirk and a wink.

Don and I cough loudly and crack up. "Leave the sex talk for at home," grins Don. Danny in turn pelts him with peanuts. Making Lindsay and I laugh even harder. This is why I love the three of them, laid-back, easy to crack a joke around, and if we want to act like mindless teenagers even though we're in our thirties we act like mindless teenagers.

Frankie, of course, chooses this time to place Lindsay's and my beer on the table. "There's a guy who's lookin' for ya Gabriella," he says.

"He give you a name?" I ask cautiously.

"Uh-huh, Bolton," is Frankie's answer.

Don, Danny, and Lindsay all start cracking up.

I shoot them glares and take a deep breath. "Yeah, he can come back here."

"It's now or never," ribs Don. "You can run right now and never look back or you can stay here and see how it goes."

I look at him, even though his voice is teasing, I can see the concern oozing from his baby blues. "I'd rather not look like a big ass for standing him up," I find myself say. "I'll be fine," I mumble more to myself than to Don, Danny, and Lindsay.

I guess now's a good time than ever to state that it's been a good three or four years since I've really 'dated' a guy. Sure there have been many good ol' fashioned dinner dates, but I'd never physically talked to the guy, other than that one awkward hour we shared over salad, strip steak, and wine and maybe the quick sex need after. I don't know why I stopped putting myself out there, I just kind of abandoned dating seriously. Instead, I lived vicariously through writing about relationships or listening to my friends' dating lives – which are as varied as can be. I guess now that I look back, I had more pressing needs. My career once I was out of college, then the continuity of publishing book after book. My mom's 'mid-life crisis', Don getting stuck in a building bomb blast that almost killed him; Sharpay making the trek from New York to Hollywood; Ryan uprooting himself to travel the world; Kelsi's show falling through; Lindsay getting pregnant; my life insists on throwing me curveballs and not one of them had a boyfriend as part of the equation.

Right now though, I find myself trying to see past the sea of bodies packed into this bar for any glance at Troy Bolton. Only instead of seeing the image of Troy, I find someone tapping my shoulder. Turning around cautiously, I look up at Troy dressed in dark-wash jeans and an _Abercrombie and Fitch_ T-shirt and a grin that reaches his azure eyes that are unfortunately covered by aviator sunglasses.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he replies and gestures to one of the empty seats. "You mind?" he asks as he removes the sunglasses and New York Rangers baseball cap that was attempting to conceal his identity and nods nervously to Danny, Don, and Lindsay.

"Not at all," says Don with a tone that is only reserved for the scumbags he arrests.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Troy cautiously sits down, while I throw a glare at Don. "Be nice,  
I whisper warningly at him.

"Just doin' my job, Brie," he replies with a subtle wink.

"Really, 'cause you're not gettin' paid for doin' a crappy job," I tell him, before turning my attention back on Troy. "Sorry," I mumble to him, before smiling widely. "I didn't kid you did I?" I ask while glancing around the bar.

Troy smiles back and follows my line of vision. "It's a good thing you warned me about the dress code," he teases me.

I nod shyly before gesturing to Danny, Don, and Lindsay. "Troy, these are my friends – not the ones I'm always featured in Page Six with – um," I point to Don. "That's Don Flack." Don nods and offers a hand. I watch the handshake, curiously. It is firm, not the bone-crushing kind Don gives at times, but instead a friendly one, but one full of warning. I can tell from Troy's face that he understands Don cares about me. When both drop the handshake, I gesture to Danny and Lindsay. "And that's Danny and Lindsay Messer."

"Hey," Troy says in greeting. Lindsay and Danny say "Hi" back and both exchange handshakes, Danny's may have been a little harder than Don's though.

"I doubt you guys need an introduction," I tease the three detectives. Danny and Don put their hands up in surrender.

"I gotta say," starts Danny. "That shot you made a couple games ago was pretty amazin'. Haven't seen one of them in awhile."

"Yeah," says Troy nervously. I can tell he is like me, not quite used to the whole 'famous' deal. "It's kinda a lucky shot."

I roll my eyes, "Do _not_ subject him to the third degree otherwise, I'm gonna kick your ass into next week, a'right Messer? You too, Don."

"We hear ya loud and clear Montez," grins Danny as he drains the last of his beer and motions to the bartender and holds up his hand in a 'five' indicating five beers. "We're not here to drive him away, although," he trails off and grins at Don. "Think we should let Brie's new guy in on a few of her secrets?"

"Oh hell no," I cry out. "You're not my mom."

"Nah," laughs Don. "We're your best friends, big difference."

"Whatever," I mumble as I turn to Troy. I smile at him and roll my eyes playfully and watch as he relaxes slightly before accepting the beer that Frankie hands him. "I hope you weren't expecting dinner," I joke.

Troy laughs, "It's cool, bar mix is a good substitute for steak." As if to prove his point, I watch as he grabs a handful of nuts and toss them in his mouth. I catch Lindsay's eye and raise my eyebrow in question. She just grins and nods – Lindsay speak for 'You better keep him close.'

~*~*~

"Beat that Flack," shouts Danny as he watches the final ball sink into one of the pockets of the pool table at Sullivan's. Three hours, many conversations, and God knows how many beers later, I find myself watching a game between Danny and Don end, with Danny gaining victory over the homicide detective.

"Suck it up Donnie," I laugh at him as he just shakes his head and downs his beer.

He tosses the cue stick at me and flicks his head at the table. "You're turn Brie," he grins widely. "We gonna place bets?" he teases turning to Danny and Lindsay with a pointed glare.

I laugh loudly at that remark. Three years ago, Danny and Lindsay had decided to play an innocent game of pool at Danny's apartment. Knowing the two of them however, tequila was poured, bets were placed, and somewhere along the way kisses were exchanged and clothes were ripped off. Of course, the story did not end there, with Danny taking Lindsay's shift the next day as a romantic gesture only to held hostage at the warehouse where a drug bust took place and winding up with broken fingers and a battered body. Don and I had cracked up when we had discovered the entire story at the hospital as we waited for Danny to be released. We also vowed to never use that table again which lead me to purchasing another table for my condo.

"Maybe we should," grins Danny.

"Too bad Troy and I have money to pay up," I throw at him.

"Hey, you ever think that maybe I faked not havin' the money to see where things lead?"

"I have no doubt."

"Who're you playing," interrupts Lindsay as she racks up the balls.

I fake contemplation, before tossing the other cue stick at Troy. "Hope you can play Bolton."

Troy just throws me his million-dollar smile and gestures to the table. "Ladies first."

I roll my eyes as I lean over the table and break the balls and watch confidently as the 6 ball sinks into a pocket. "Scared Bolton?"

"Not one bit, Ella," he tells me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he leans on his stick and observes me as I contemplate which ball to sink next. I bite my lip before aiming the cue stick at the 3 ball and hit it lightly, sending it rolling in the direction of another pocket and sinking in.

"Damn," whistles Don teasingly behind me. "I got twenty on Brie."

"Nah," I head Lindsay contradict. "As much as I love Brie, it's gonna be Troy."

"We bettin' here Montana," Danny says. "Cause, if you lose, y'know…" I hear him trail off.

"I never lose a bet Messer."

"You wanna test that theory?"

I snort – the innuendo is clear in that remark – as I return to the game in front of me and attempt to sink the 7 ball, but it falls short.

"Dammit," I swear while Troy just laughs.

"Too bad Ella, my turn," he states as he aims at the 10 ball and stares at it for a good three minutes.

"Aw, just shoot Bolton," I tease. "We all know you won't make it." Troy gives me a look as he lines up the cue stick again and taps it with ease, I swear quietly as it hits the pocket perfectly.

"You were saying Montez?" he asks me playfully as he reverts to leaning against the cue stick.

I stick my tongue out at him playfully. "I'm still gonna whoop your ass."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Troy warns me as he preps for his next shot.

It is one game that morphs into three more and then another two, and then another one. Both of us are trying to up the ante, much to the amusement of Don, Danny, and Lindsay. I am barely aware when Stella and another team member – Dr. Sheldon Hawkes – come in to grab a beer late in the night after their shift. Instead I am more focused on Troy's unique cologne every time he walks and the way he scrunches his face in concentration. I can feel Troy's azure eyes on me every time I line up the cue stick with the cue ball, I am fully aware that I am chewing on my bottom lip in concentration. I know that Danny is keeping score and that there are bets placed all around. I had come out on top for the first game, with Troy beating me the next two, then me, then him. I highly doubt anyone will come out on top. Maybe it will be a joke amongst us. First Danny and Lindsay with the pool table, then Troy and me, maybe Don should go and find himself a girl to play pool with, then we would all have some screwed up yet totally romantic…

_What the hell am I thinking? _I shake my head as I pull myself from my impromptu daydream. Maybe it is from all those beers I drank, because I know I did not just daydream about their being a future for Troy and I _right_?

I shake my head again in an attempt to clear my head as I position the cue stick in order to sink the eight ball. I yell triumphantly as it rolls into the pocket signifying my win and Troy's loss.

"Damn," I hear Troy say behind me. "How 'bout another go Ella?" I bite my lip in hesitance as I check my watch. _12:34 am_, s_hit_. "You scared," he ribs.

I shake my head as I look over to where Lindsay, Don, Danny, and Stella are all sitting, obviously discussing my on-going date. I see Don wave to me and motion us to come over. "I'm not scared of anythin' Bolton," I state.

"Good," he replies cockily as he racks up the balls again.

"But," I say, stopping him mid-rack. "It's reaching 1 am and I have some stuff tomorrow."

Troy grins at me, but nods graciously and places his cue stick on the pool table. "You saying we need to cut this short?"

"No, not at all," I reply grinning. "You like walking?"

"At 1 am?" Troy grins wickedly.

"Ooh," I sigh, still grinning. "Forget, you're not from around here. How 'bout a nightcap?"

"Haven't we had enough to drink," he teases me as we make our way to the group. There was that whiff of cologne again – maybe it was just his unique scent – whatever it is, I must admit that it is intoxicating.

"I meant coffee, but if you want some vodka I've got that back at my place," I reply steadily regardless of the estimated six beers I've had.

I see Don and Danny exchange grins and I realize that they heard Troy and I talking and roll my eyes. "Hey, is anyone else heading out?"

"Yeah," nods Lindsay as she checks her wristwatch. "Damn, I didn't think it was that late." I watch as Danny grabs Lindsay's watch to check the time too.

"You two forget about that little bundle of joy waiting for you back home?" teases Don as he takes another sip of beer.

"Nah," grins Danny. "M&M's in good hands, right Linds?"

I stifle a giggle. When Danny and Lindsay had first started dating, Don and I had thought it would be funny to call them M&M for Messer and Monroe or Messer and Montana, but when little Alexia was born, Danny adopted M&M as the baby's nickname, much to the amusement of everyone else.

"Yeah," snorts Lindsay. "She's in my brother's hands at the moment. That's real safe." Danny just grins as he and Lindsay rise from their seats and good-byes are exchanged all around with Stella reminding Danny he's working tomorrow and Lindsay whispering to me to tell her all about the rest of my night. When one leaves, they all leave, with Stella the next person to exit with Don, Troy, and myself not far behind her.

Standing outside in the bitter cold, I giver Don a hug as he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before he taps the top of the yellow cab, waves good-bye, and heads to his own car. I turn to Troy and smile, "My offer of the nightcap still stands, unless you want to y'know head home."

"Nah," replies Troy, he smiles at me again. "I'd like to get to know the Gabriella Montez without the fancy parties to hide behind."

"That was the Gabriella Montez," I say. "That's the one not many people get to meet."

"Well then, I feel very honored," Troy says sincerely and as I look up in those bright blue eyes I actually believe him.

~*~*~

"I know, I know, it's no fancy penthouse," I shout over my shoulder as I bustle around the kitchen to start the coffee maker and heat up a frozen pizza. "And I definitely don't have a maid service and personal chef, so you're gonna have to make due superstar."

"I like it," I hear Troy reply from the living room, where no doubt, my flat-screen is still playing the same disc of _NCIS. _

"I hope you like margarita pizza and chocolate-covered strawberries with coffee, 'cause that's about all I have in this kitchen unless you like pb&j." I hear Troy shuffle into my kitchen and walk up behind me.

"I'm not picky Ella," he whispers in my ear. "You don't have to try and impress me. You've already done that."

A smile tugs at my lips as I turn in his arms and smile softly. "Good to know," I whisper back at him. "But, the pizza'll be done in fifteen minutes tops."

"Ok," shrugs Troy as he steers me into my living room and we both sit on my couch. I reach for my remote before it interrupts my conversation with Troy. "You can leave it on," I hear Troy say. I turn around, fully aware of our close proximity.

""Scuse me?" I ask, feeling a little dumb.

"I like the show," grins Troy. "It's the one where Tony and Ziva are stuck in some cargo box right?"

_Alright good starting point as any I guess. I mean who doesn't like talking about TV shows, except…_

"Yeah, you're right, it's one of my favorites. But, I don't think you came to my place to watch _NCIS._"

"Who knows, maybe I knew you were a fan all along," teases Troy.

I giggle softly. "That's what they all say. Did you know this show's my secret weapon?" I tease back.

"Really," says Troy thoughtfully. "I had no idea. It's a good plan though. Get a guy with a crime show. Maybe I should go buy the most recent season of _GossipGirl_."

I snort, "Oh yeah, 'cause that's such a good show."

Troy grins at me, "Alright, alright, what's the latest chick flick TV show?"

"Ever heard of _Grey's Anatomy_? _Desperate Housewives_? _Private Practice_? Shows that aren't targeted toward teenagers?"

"I'm a guy; do you really think I pay attention?"

I shake my head. "All you care about is sports and porn."

"See now, that's where you're mixing up guys with teenage boys."

"I didn't know there was a difference," I state indifferently.

Troy laughs, the same kind of laugh as the night I first talked to him. The laugh that makes a shiver run down my spine. "Good one Ella," he tells me. "But in all seriousness, I'd take my _NCIS, 24, _and _Scrubs _over ESPN any day."

"Oh right," I mock-gasp. "You're a basketball player; you'd rather not watch wannabe players critique your every move."

"Wiseass," laughs Troy as he pokes me in my side. I squirm and giggle, making Skittles emerge from her hiding spot in my bedroom.

"Hey Skittles," I call out I glance at Troy who raises his eyebrow. "I'm not the lonely cat woman, 'kay. I'm the single woman who owns a dog."

"_Right_," laughs Troy, once again drawing the word out. "I'm gonna ignore whatever you said right there." He glances at me again. "Why Skittles?"

I shrug, "Name from my past, a part me of wants to keep a hold of it."

Troy nods and I can feel a change of feeling in the room. Gone was the good-natured teasing and ribbing, instead seriousness is taking over. My past is peaking up again, so is my need to tell Troy the truth. But why should I tell him the truth if I am not even ready to face it? Better yet, why am I even considering telling Troy? I've known him for a little over a week and yet… it feels like I've known him my whole life. There is just something about the way he makes me open up and forget the mask that I always wear. Sure, he is famous, but I get the feeling like he knows where I am coming from. Before my brain can connect with my mouth and spew my life story to this guy… man… whatever, the timer in the kitchen goes off, reminding me that reality is waiting.

"I uh, I should probably get that," I whisper. Troy nods absentmindedly and I follow his eyesight to the cluster of photos that hang on one of my walls. I remember when I put those up. There is everything from Dad and me to one of Don graduating from the Academy to multiple ones of me and Sharpay, Taylor, and Kelsi. "Oh, that's just uh, something that…" I trail off in embarrassment.

"It's really cool," says Troy as he gets up to look at the photos closer.

I grimace remembering exactly which photos I chose all those years ago. But instead of picking a crazy picture, Troy points to the one in the center. That was probably my best choice. It is a picture of Daddy and me just days before he died. I remember a friend of Mom's was getting married, so we came earlier than most guests to help set up – or at least that was Mom's plan. I was more interested in looking at the altar and pretending that I was older and wearing this really pretty dress with my proverbial 'Prince Charming' waiting for me. Mom thought that it would be a cute picture to have me in my dress with Dad walking me down the aisle. I have to admit that even now, that picture is perfect. With the many, many pictures I have gathered to remind myself of Dad that one stands out because I still got to walk down the aisle with him even though it was for pretend.

"Oh yeah," I find myself murmuring and reaching out to trace the edge of the photo.

"Is that your dad?" he asks quietly. I nod sadly. "It's a really good picture."

"Thanks," I say and before I can stop myself, I find myself adding, "I keep it up there because I know that there'll never be another opportunity. Even though that was pretend, my daddy still walked me down the aisle." I see Troy smile out of the corner of my eye. "Sometimes, I can hear him whispering the same thing he told me that day, as if we haven't moved from that point in time." I pause and sigh, my mind traveling back in time, but I can tell that Troy is waiting so I open my mouth again. "He had told me to never stop wishing. I was a hopeless romantic when I was younger. Actually, people still consider me a romantic. But that day, I kept pretending that it was my wedding day and that my 'Prince Charming' was at the end of the aisle. After the ceremony, my dad and I had walked up to the alter and he had told me that no matter how many twists there are in the path of life, it still leads you one way. He had uh, told me to always look past the twists and dream about the bridge that connects my path with 'Prince Charming'. Looking back now, I find it just as meaningful, but kind of funny considering how deep it was for a homicide detective."

I look up to find Troy staring at me, a smile playing on his lips. "You find that bridge yet?" he asks.

"Nope," I sigh. "I have a feeling that I'll find it soon though," I whisper as he walks closer to me. "The pizza's gonna burn," I mumble as he dips his head so that his forehead is resting on mine.

"I don't care," Troy whispers back. "I'm not hungry anymore."

~*~*~

When I restocked the kitchen the next afternoon, I found the pizza still sitting in my oven, slightly burnt, but still edible. Troy was right though, I was not that hungury anymore.

* * *

Sooo how was their um 'first date'? Just like any other author, I'm a review whore, so please, please, pretty please, with M&Ms on top review! Thanks! I hope you guys liked it.


	8. Ready for a Change

**A/N: **Hehe *ducks head* hasn't been _that _long right? Yeah, 'kay it's been a little while, but in my defense I'm coming up on the home stretch before graduation so I've been _really, really _busy and I've hit a little writer's block so tell me how this chapter is, 'cause I'm kinda nervous... Shutting up now, just enjoy the story! - wait - Sorry about the mix up with the title by the by! 'Kay, I'm serious, I'm done :D

**Summary** (last change, I'm serious): A romantic socialite or 'Just One Of The Guys'… Gabriella Montez knows both worlds well, but when they start to mesh together with the unknowing help of a new beau, will she have to choose which one is more important to her? Or will the two worlds cease to exist after reality cashes in? In the city that never sleeps, she is about to discover that finding her way is a lot harder than she thought. Will she have to take a chance and shake things up for her fairytale ending to happen?

**Special Thanks T****o**: _RolandCarros, ..Seraphina.x., ..x., Laugh-Dance-Love, Noelle82, 12superstar, _and _unknownbyhim22_

**Special Welcomes To**: _uniqu3s0u7, foogli, Lily-Sun, _and _zettaiyo_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

_Finding Your Way Back Home_

**Chapter 7**

_You can change your hair and you can change your clothes  
You can change your mind, that's just the way it goes  
You can say goodbye, you can say hello  
But you'll always find your way back home_

_You can change your style, yeah your can change your jeans  
You can learn to fly and you can chase your dreams  
You can laugh and cry but everybody knows  
You'll always find your way back home_

_– __Hannah Montana_

~*~*~

_I look up to find Troy staring at me, a smile playing on his lips. "You find that bridge yet?" he asks._

"_Nope," I sigh. "I have a feeling that I'll find it soon though," I whisper as he walks closer to me. "The pizza's gonna burn," I mumble as he dips his head so that his forehead is resting on mine._

"_I don't care," Troy whispers back. "I'm not hungry anymore."_

~*~*~

I could feel him moving closer rather than seeing him. It was also instinct to stop talking in an attempt to keep this moment going. I am no one to normally indulge in sex after the first date, nor am in to really kiss a guy after just meeting him. Yet, the irrational and slightly drunk side of my mind was mixing with reason and reminding me that this was not a normal first date and Troy was not just any guy. Unfortunately a phone decided to ring at that particular time, meaning the moment I was desperately trying to keep alive was shattered with one note of Carrie Underwood singing.

"You should probably get that," Troy whispers against my lips. I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

I shake my head slightly. "If it's important, they'll leave a message."

"The pizza's getting cold," he points out.

"Screw the pizza," I hear myself say.

Troy smiles, but shakes his head, "I take back my earlier statement. I'm kinda hungry."

"You're just saying that."

There is a beat, and then… "You're right."

Silence, not the awkward kind that occurs at business meetings or after a huge fight, but a silence filled with tension, questions, new feelings. It was a silence that could have lasted only seconds or half an hour. Troy broke it first.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not looking for a quick fuck," he says. I look up at those expressive blue eyes and nod slightly. If there is something that I am learning about Troy, it is that he does not mince words. "What I told you on New Year's still holds true, I've never met a girl like you and I have to admit, I'd love to get to know the girl behind the scenes."

"I'm a hard girl to get to know," I hear myself remark.

"I like a challenge."

"I'm not a party girl… I mean – I know the tabloids paint me as a socialite, but truthfully, I could –" The rest of my stuttered admission falls short when Troy places his finger on my lips.

"I know," he whispers. "I don't care; I want you with whatever baggage you've got. We don't have to go to bars every night just 'cause we're in the public's eye a little more than most people."

I nod, while I am calm and collected on the outside, inside I can feel my stomach doing little flips. "I haven't done this in a while," I confess, at Troy's questioning gaze I elaborate. "Dating – I meant dating. My life's been crazy these past few years so I'm a little rusty."

"You don't seem socially inept," he teases me.

"You sure about –"

~*~*~

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in your lies  
When everything seems like the movies  
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive_

_And I don't want the world to see me  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

_Stupid alarm clock,_ I think as my left hand slices through the air in search of the snooze button on my iHome. A few moments later, The Goo Goo Dolls are finally silent and I roll over, cracking open one eye I strain to catch the time. "9:02 am, Shit," I hear myself murmur as my head pounds and I am blinded by the light spilling from my open window. I throw my left arm over my eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep until the need to barf becomes apparent and I climb out of bed and race to the bathroom.

I _**hate**_ hangovers.

~*~*~

Thirty minutes of bowing to the porcelain God? Check.

Hour-long shower in which forty-five are spent sitting on the floor lifeless? Check.

Worn-out NYPD sweats that I borrowed from Don (and never giving back) and hair in a messy bun? Check.

Extra-strong coffee and three Tylenol? Check

Letter from Troy expressing his thanks for last night? Che – Wait… What the fuck?

~*~*~

Walking around my living room, cleaning up the mess that had accumulated yesterday from my preparations for my date, I find a simple note from Troy resting atop neatly folded blankets on my couch. It was definitely not elaborate, he had obviously stolen a sheet of notebook paper from my office, but it was personal and made me smile as I read it.

_Ella – _

_Sorry I have to jet off early, but my guys called for an early morning run. If you'll agree I'd like to take you for lunch on Sunday. Thanks for last night, it wasn't what I was expecting truth be told but I'm glad with what it turned out to be._

– _T_

I find myself grinning like a little girl as I finish perusing the note. It is so simple and so sweet. The gesture seems like one of out a romantic novel or movie, not normally found in reality and yet, here I was reading a note from my 'love interest' while cleaning up my living room. It was so Troy and Gabriella. So perfect. I let my eyes glance over the note again, while leaning over to pick up the spare blanket and pillow, but before I am able to straighten to my full height, my eyes find another surprise. The glossy cover of my latest book peeks from under the couch. I squat down to pick it up, slightly surprised to find another note stuck to the front.

_Good start Ella… will you sign a poor guy's copy?_

I shake my head slightly as I turn the book in my hands before crossing my living room and placing this book in its rightful place in my bookshelf. My fingers lightly trace the spine of my novels – my pride and joy – before I make my way back to the couch and my jumbo-size coffee. I really do hate hangovers – even small ones like the one I am nursing today. Plopping down on the couch, I make a grab for the remote, opting to listen to the news instead of the Giants coverage. Skittles pads around the room, yipping quietly before jumping up on the couch and settling down next to me, her head resting on my lap. I run my hand through her matted fur as I register the latest on the mayor's affair and the weather being a sweltering 20 degrees.

I feel like hitting myself as my mind categorizes all that I have to accomplish by next week. Two weeks to finish the second half of my latest novel – the fifth in its series – should not be that hard considering that I have nothing else to do except write. Then there is the issue of no food in my house and my clean clothes pile has become less than my dirty clothes pile. Skittles needs some necessities – specifically dog food. Then there is the issue of my life in general that makes me groan aloud. I stare ahead blankly as I internally debate – yet again – if my chosen career is right or wrong. I shake my head, before reaching for my coffee cup to take a sip. Don's, Stella's, and Lindsay's voices all mesh together as I weight my options.

…_There's always space on the team for you…_

…_You'd be damn good at this job, Montez. You'd show 'em all you're just like your old man…_

…_Come on Brie, just think about it you'd love it here… _

…_But seriously, take the damned test, you can pass and not ask for the job…_

Their voices all mesh together as I feel myself slipping in and out of sleep. The last thing that registered in my mind was Skittles licking my fingers – or was she drinking my coffee?

~*~*~

Insistent pounding on my door wakes me up a few hours later. Rubbing sleep from eyes, my headache having thankfully receded, I stumble to my door and open it, barely registering my appearance. I groan inwardly as the open door reveals Taylor and Kelsi both dressed fashionably in their own rights, with bright eyes and wide smiles, obviously interested in my date last night, except – for the first time in my life – I have no need to run my mouth about how perfect Troy is for me.

"Did it go bad?" is the first thing out of Kelsi's mouth as I usher my two best friends into my apartment. Screw the mess; forget the coffee brewing in the kitchen and the unmistakable scent of Troy Bolton that lingers in my apartment; leave the hard copies of the CSI test out on my kitchen's breakfast bar. They want to know what happened last night. They can figure it out themselves, humph.

"It went fine," I say tiredly, offering the pair a cinnamon roll. Taylor rolls her eyes and shakes her head, Kelsi hesitates for a moment before rejecting the decadent treat as well. I shrug and stuff half of the gooey goodness in my mouth. Why woman insist on counting calories and what-not is beyond me… Alright, so I have a pretty good idea, I just do not comprehend it well.

"Is he still here?" Taylor stage-whispers. "'Cause, if he is, Kels and I can high tail it out of here."

I shake my head, "Troy left earlier this morning. I'm just tired and slightly hung over."

"Oh," they say in unison and I refrain from rolling my eyes – I'm not one for being easily impressed or whatever they were being.

"So how was it?" asks Taylor as she loses the winter coat and rummages around my kitchen in search of the orange juice. "Was he any good? Or was he a jerk? Where'd you guys go?"

"Whoa, slow down with the interrogation," I laugh, reaching behind my head to redo my ponytail. "First of all, why do all of your questions involve sex?"

"Habit," answers Taylor as she pours herself a screwdriver with some Vodka she discovered in my cabinet. "You never actually date the guy."

"At least not since college," pipes Kelsi as she grabs a banana from my counter.

I sigh knowing where this conversation was going. "We did not have sex, 'kay, just know that you two. Before you raise anymore questions, no these clothes do not belong to Troy, they belong to a friend and do not bother asking about said friend 'cause you'll get squat."

Taylor raises her hands up in surrender, but a grin still graces her face. I roll my eyes, "We went to a bar, played some pool, chatted, headed back here for pizza and another chat. Everything was purely platonic." _Except, y'know the kiss and multiple games of pool at Sullivan's._ I glance at the both of them, as if daring them to question my date. Taylor and Kelsi seem to be at a loss for words, before my phone rings signaling a text.

Kelsi picks it up and squeals, "It's from Troy!"

I groan as I lunge for my phone, "Give me that Kels."

"Uh-uh," she grins. "Let's have some fun riling up Hoops man."

"No," I practically shout, as Kelsi backs up grinning widely. I watch horrified as she opens up the text.

"So what's the answer Ella?" Kelsi reads aloud.

I exhale loudly as I run the last few feet for my iPhone, successfully yanking it out of Kelsi's loose grip. "Never, ever, do that again," I state. I can tell that my voice is hinting at the annoyance coursing through my veins at the moment.

Kelsi looks at me weirdly before shrugging and returning to her spot at the breakfast bar. I stay in my short hallway reading Troy's shot text and responding to it quickly.

**So what's the answer Ella? Is Sunday a go or am I pushing my luck? **

I bite my lip as I slide down my wall and sit down. Skittles pads over to my spot and places her head in my lap again. "What should I go girl?" I ask quietly. "Do you like him?" Skittles perks up at the question and I smile slightly. "I do too." My resolve hardens as I quickly type out my response.

_I'll be there, you pick when and where this time. I like surprises. _

My phone vibrates almost immediately.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
I'll pick u up. 12:30 pm good for u?**

_Yes._

I will not lie, I do like surprises, but a surprise from him is sure to trump all other surprises – with the exception of maybe two others. I sit there for a few more moments before standing up and walking back into my kitchen where Taylor and Kelsi are still waiting for me. I nod to the both of them as I take my place behind the breakfast bar. As the other two describe their plans for the day with Taylor every once in a while dropping in a teasing remark about Kelsi and Ryan. I find myself thinking about surprises.

Surprises can translate to change and chance. Change and chance are all part of the road in life. Maybe it is time for me to consider a change, to take a chance, mix things up, and make a few surprises. And just like with Skittles little tail wag about Troy, my quick little pep talk helps me harden my resolve as my eyesight falls upon the Troy's two notes and the test. I think it is high time I do what I want to do.

* * *

So... review? Pretty, pretty please!!!


	9. Mama Knows Best

**A/N: **Your oddly placed insight into my life has arrived - lol. Not much I can blame a late update other than sheer laziness, performing my school play, going on multiple field trips, and getting a D in one class (managed to bring it up to an A again though, how I accomplished that is still a mystery!) Oh well, there's two weeks left and then I'm free! Thank GOD!

**BTW:** If anyone has a **LiveJournal **or a **Facebook **and you'd be willing to read the daily happenings of my life, your welcome to drop me a line and we can communicate :)

**Shoutout to my BFFLs:** The title's for you guys...

**Special Thanks To:** _zettaiyo_, , _12superstar, Laugh-Dance-Love, dreamsescape, Noelle82, _and _unknownbyhim22_

**Special Welcomes to:** _scabbyabby, Team __Putty, It'sNotAboutYou, XotroyellaoX, crazy4yourlove, sneakerpie, dreamsescape, nyychick2,_ and _clarefisher_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

**_Finding Your Way Back Home_**

**Chapter 8**

_I don't know where to go, what's the right team? I want my own thing… I can't chose, so confused, what's it all mean? I want my own dream, so bad I'm gonna scream – Troy Bolton_

_And now I know why the all the trees change in the fall; I know you were on my side even when I was wrong. And I love you for giving me your eyes, for staying back and watching me shine and I didn't know if you knew, so I'm takin' this chance to say that I had the best day with you today – Taylor Swift_

~*~*~

Saturday afternoons in the park is one of my favorite pastimes. Ever since I was a teenager, I would amble around the neighborhood park and watch as footballs and Frisbees were tossed back and forth, couples and loners ran, biked, or walked their dog. It was mindless people watching, a jumpstart for my imagination, a cleansing ritual after a hard day and it helped, surprisingly. Hours after my shift at the local diner ended, I could always be found on the bench with its green paint peeling gnawing on the end of my pen, staring into space. Many a time, my mom or Don had to come and drag my ass home. No one asked any questions, it was as common as Monday evening laundry or Friday Chinese take-out with a chick flick. Rain or shine, during the heat of summer or the bitter cold of winter, I would always sit out there. Nowadays, my time outside has been less and less. My blank stares are reserved my time on my balcony at home or short walks through Central Park.

~*~*~

I disregard Taylor's pleas to go on an afternoon shopping spree. I am not in the mood to waste five or six hours maxing out the credit card on designer goods. I know she is trying to get me out of the house to wean information from me. She is worse than most of the cops I know and they do that for a living. Of course, her job requires her to pry at people's lives, but still, I'm her best friend not an informant. She and Kelsi leave with the promise of returning, disappointment oozing from the voices in a last ditch attempt to get me to come along. I roll my eyes and shut the door after them. Instead of wandering around SoHo or Fifth Avenue in _Blanik_ heels, a _Chanel_ coat, and a _Dooney and Burke_ purse, I find myself changing into a pair of jeans, a random t-shirt, my _Uggs_, and a simple pea coat, before I exit the apartment and head for the subway.

An hour later, I find myself staring at the neighborhood park in Middle Village, Queens. The bench next to the old oak tree buried under a light coat of snow, the sun shining above. I watched as kids sled down a short hill and made snow angels, before shifting my attention towards a group of teenagers in the middle of a snowball fight. This was home; familiar, normal, and consistent. Instead of the life I was accustomed to; parties, unknown, crazy.

I walk down the short path and stop in front of the bench that inspired so many stories and became my security blanket over time. I lightly brush the snow off the seat and perch on the cold wood. I forget the fact my pants will be soaking wet in ten minutes time or that I can see my breath in little puffs. I pull out my iPhone, slide on the headphones, turn up the country tunes, and open up the novel in my purse. Just because I am a writer, does not mean I do not read books myself. I sigh as my eyes rove over the familiar and well-read text of 'the Boy Who Lived'.

An hour, maybe two, or maybe even three pass before I become aware of someone else sharing the old bench with me. I glance sideways to find an older woman with a knowing smile sitting next to me. Her black hair is streaked with grey and hidden underneath a hat. The chocolate eyes so much like my own, hold my gaze before she reaches out to close my book and take my hand.

"Hello _mija_," she says.

I yank out an ear bud before placing a soft kiss on her tan cheeks. "Hey mommy, what're you doing here?"

My mom shrugs. "It's a nice day to go out Gabi," she says nonchalantly. I scoot closer to her, knowing that she will let me tell her my issues instead of prying. That is how she always is.

Maria Montez. I always thought it was a pretty name, especially when I was younger. Daddy would always remark, 'A pretty name for a beautiful girl' when I voiced my opinion. To the world, Maria Montez is the best biology and chemistry teacher at Cameron College Preparatory. Hailing from Chicago, Illinois, Maria Ramirez moved to New York City and was promptly introduced to Carlos Montez. She is a woman who handled being married to a homicide detective with flourish; is always there to lend a helping hand or willing to listen. Even after Daddy died, she still worked and kept a smile on her face for me, even though I could tell she had been crying. My teenage years were spent without a father and with a mother who was hard-working, but still came home for dinner. Unlike Taylor, Sharpay, and Kelsi's practically non-existing parents, Mom made sure that I knew her door was always open if I needed to talk. She would spend time reading what I wrote, watching my performances and competitions at school. She went on shopping trips to the local mall with me and helped me make Daddy's dream of me going to Stanford a reality. During those years, I formed a unique bond with my mom, just like most girls do, but I always thought this one was stronger than that because it was only her and me. So today, she can tell when something is eating at me, which is not a useful trait sometimes.

"It's cold out here _mija_, how about we head home?" Mom inquires, her gaze sweeping the park, indirectly avoiding my gaze.

"Sure, I could go for some coffee right now," I mumble, picking up my purse and shoving my book and phone inside the bag. My mom glances at me, her eyebrows rose slightly. "What?"

"I told you to quit drinking that stuff Gabi," she admonishes. "That stuff is terrible."

"I'm the daughter of a cop, with a caffeine addiction mommy," I laugh as we get up and follow the snow-covered path out of the park and onto the sidewalk, before heading left down the street. "I need my coffee."

"Well, how about I take you to a time before you liked coffee hmm? I'm thinking hot chocolate, brownies, some pot roast, and a little chat."

I snort as we cross the deserted street. "You should've been a shrink, not a teacher."

"They're kinda the same _mija_," says Mom softly as she pulls out her keys to unlock the door to my childhood home, the two-story brownstone on Travis Street. A feeling of comfort passes through me as I hear the jingle-jangle of the collection of keys. It is the tell-tale sound of Mom. Whenever she came to pick me up from day care or school, her soft footfalls and musical tone of her keys always alerted me of her presence.

"Mhm, sure Mami," I say as I follow her into the house and shed my coat and boots.

Breathing in a deep breath of old wood, homemade cookies, and the vanilla scent of home I big smile crosses my face. I love this place. It has a brick exterior and white trim with little flower boxes under the front windows. Inside, it is even better. Three bedrooms, a lived-in front room with Daddy's leather recliner still in the corner by the television, the kitchen is still painted a warm yellow, even if the appliances have been changed to the normal stainless-steel with a dishwasher and microwave oven. Upstairs and to the right is what I know is my old bedroom. Painted a rich teal color with a white canopy bed, that room was my haven. Pictures still grace the walls and a floor to ceiling bookshelf sits next to my bed, the one thing Daddy built in-between double shifts. Across the hall, is Mommy and Daddy's room, I have not been in there, in God knows how long, probably since I returned from Stanford after graduation before getting my own place. I can still hear Daddy and Uncle Flack chatting about work or the latest Yankees game; my laughter from childhood resounds throughout the hallways; Mommy's middle of the night sobs wreck havoc upon the happiness. The good, the bad, and the ugly have been witnessed in this house. The walls are painted with memories, but the story is not complete yet. That much is apparent as I follow Mom into the kitchen and hop up on a stool to sit at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"So," she says when two steaming mugs of hot cocoa are placed on the table with a big container of brownies. "What made you travel all the way from the Upper East Side to Middle Village?"

I smile coyly, "Can't a girl wander around her city without being given the third degree?"

"If Don had it his way, you'd never leave your condo," Mom says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes. "He's the worse."

"He's just lookin' at for you," assures Mom. "So what does he think of your new boyfriend?" I gape at my mom for a few moments before shaking my head. "I work at a high school _mija_, my students know who you are and follow the gossip."

"So you know about Troy?" I ask dejectedly.

"I know that the rumors say you have been seeing this star," Mom states politically. "I have no knowledge of this man until my daughter tells me of him." She glances at me before taking a sip of hot cocoa. "So Gabi, what's going on?" Yep, definitely could have been a shrink.

"Not much," I say, deciding to play along. "Met this guy named Troy Bolton on New Year's Eve and am attempting to be in an actual adult relationship for the first time in my life," I pause and look at my mom. "You do know who Troy Bolton _is _right?"

Mom laughs before nodding, "I do keep up with the local teams Gabi."

"I'm just checking. I didn't know who he was when I first met him," I reveal. "Took me reading Page Six and getting the third degree from Don and Danny for me to realize his day job."

"Ah, you always did want to date the sports star."

"Stop it mom," I groan. "I'd had a few beers so it's understandable."

"Mhm, sure _mija_," she says, echoing my earlier statement before shaking her head teasingly. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Have Don trail me?" I offer. That was an old joke. Whenever a guy would take me out, Don would follow the poor bastard's car around the city. I found it rather funny – my boyfriends did not. But returning to the conversation, "Troy seems like a great guy, he's easy-going, fun to talk to, ridiculously hot, really sweet, hilarious, a closet romantic, good at pool," I trail off.

"Don't tell my your falling in love," Mom teases.

I shift uneasily. _Pfft, me falling in love? Please._ "I barely know him."

"Doesn't matter honey," she says. "You know when there's something special. It's a feeling that we can't explain but understand."

I shrug as I take a bite of a brownie. "I'm taking this one step at a time."

"That's a good idea _mija_. Has Don met him?" she asks. I nod my mouth full of brownie. "How about Taylor or Kelsi or Sharpay?" I shake my head and avoid eye contact. I know mom will read into that tidbit. We are silent for a few minutes as I wash the brownie down, neither of us really looking at the other.

"So you love him," she says finally.

I quirk an eyebrow, "All I said was that Don has met him, and so's the rest of the NYPD crew."

"Yes, although I didn't ask about Danny or Stella or Lindsay. But the fact that you let them meet him, but not Taylor or Kelsi or Sharpay says a lot."

"It doesn't mean I love him," I say stubbornly.

"No, but it does mean that he may be sticking around longer than you think."

"I've known him for all of two weeks. How can I possible love him if I barely know him?"

"Two weeks is an awfully long time to get to know a person," Mom states. "I knew I loved your father within four days."

"This is more complicated," I say meekly.

Mom glares at me. "You like and respect him Gabi that much is obvious. I just think that you feel a little more that you are letting on." _Yep, _I think, _she definitely should have been a shrink._

"But," she says, getting up to heat up dinner for the two of us. "What do I know? I didn't have Perez Hilton following me around or an image to project to the world. Excuse me for still seeing you as the young girl who was looking for Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet."

I sigh audibly. This was not the advice I was seeking when I made the unconscious trek to Middle Village. Instead of giving Mom a head's up on my possible career change, I was being lectured by her about my relationship with Troy – so predictable, so nerve-wracking, so annoying, so… so… _argh_. "Mom, please," I beg in an attempt to change the subject. "I'm not here for relationship advice."

"I know that _mija_," Mom states calmly from her spot by the stove. From my spot at the island, I can easily smell her famous chili bubbling as she adds her 'special spices'. I was back in high school again, sitting around having an in-depth conversation with Mom about the future. Funny how life tends to repeat itself, maybe I should learn from my past mistakes. She turns around, the wooden spoon still in hand. "So, what did you come here to talk about?"

"An idea, I think…" I trail off and bite my lip. "It's probably really stupid, but – I mean, I guess… not really it shouldn't," my stuttering comes to a halt as Mom walks over and places her arms around me and gives me a hug. I sniff slightly before returning the sentiment – possible squeezing harder than intended.

"What's the matter _mija_?" she asks worriedly, tucking a loose curl behind my ear.

I glance into the eyes of my Mom; concern was oozing out of the chocolate irises so much like my own. "Have you ever considered changing your career?" I ask tentatively.

"Of course," Mom exclaims, obviously thinking this to be the worst. "Multiple times during high school and college. Why are you asking? I thought you loved writing."

"I do, really I do Mom," I assure her. "It's just…," I trail off, again. How am I supposed to phrase that I would like to demote myself to a lowly criminalist, Mom would not understand. She is not Don or Lindsay or even Daddy. Of course, just like when I was a teenager, I gave her far less credit than she deserved.

"You don't enjoy the job itself anymore," she finishes off shrewdly.

I nod meekly, hoping she understands, I continue, "There's a reason that I had a Bachelor of Science in Chemistry and a minor in writing. Writing was just on the side, remember? But, then I give my professor my manuscript to read over it and she goes and gives it to Josh claiming it was one of the best things she's read in a long time and suddenly, my career path is altered. Book signings, publisher meetings, novel after novel needed to be worked on, it stopped me in my tracks," I admit quietly.

Mom gives me a small hug before getting up to flick off the stove, and then she is back in mere seconds. "Things are just not what they used to be or are what they were supposed to be," I confess. "Eight years ago, everything was set. I would take the test and work with the best team of CSIs in America. Taylor, Sharpay, and Kelsi would apply for their fame-worthy jobs and life would continue like usual, me splitting time between both worlds and then my real dream fell down with _What's on Your Mind?_" I say bitterly, referring to my first book.

Mom pulls me close like when I was younger, whispering reassuring words in my ear. I sniffle again before shakily pulling out two items from my purse. I carefully place Dad's badge and the copies of practice tests on the table. "Mac was gonna let me wear Dad's numbers," I tell her, tears falling down my face as I finger the well-loved piece of gold and blue metal.

Mom looks at me before smiling, "Is this why you were sitting on the bench?" I nod. "You are considering taking the test again." I nod even though it is more of a statement than a question. Her next question throws me somewhat. "Why are you hesitant?" I shrug before she points me with a glare. "I know you know the reason Gabi."

I take a deep breath before answering. "Taylor, Kelsi, and Shar," I finally say. Mom nods silently, prompting me to continue. "We're on unsteady grounds at the moment. Their lifestyle and they themselves have been bugging me lately so I've been hanging with Don, Danny, and Linds way too much. I guess, wait – no I know," I tell her adamantly. "That they are looking at me differently again, they're looking at the young girl from a poorer neighborhood who doesn't belong at a rich private school. Or maybe it's reversed," I say. "Maybe, my expectations are different than what they used to be." I shrug, "Maybe I'm just overreacting."

"You've always been different than them, know that _mija_," Mom states. "But, it shouldn't matter what they think. You should be doing this for yourself, not if your friends approve."

"I just feel like if I take the job, then I'm separating myself from them even more. My job was my connection to the rich and famous. To _them_," I emphasize.

"I can't help you with that decision _mija_. Only you know what's best for you. I trust you to make the right choice and if your friends are really the best friends you believe, they'll encourage your decision."

"We sound like I'm in high school," I laugh in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

"Gabi, no one ever truly leaves that time in your life," Mom says lightly. I watch as she tenderly picks up Dad's shield. "He would be so, _so _proud of you Gabriella. We both are. But for you to want to use his numbers means a lot," she gives me a quick kiss to the forehead before getting up to finish dinner. I follow suit, my spirit slightly buoyed and my decision finalized by what Mom has just told me.

* * *

Review? Pretty pretty please with M&M's on top?


	10. Love at First Sight

**A/N:** Well... At least you guys now know that I didn't abandon this story. School's been out for exactly a week and I would've uploaded quicker if grad parties and sleep were a nonissue, but as it was - I needed to sleep for about 36 hours before I did anything else. XD Anyways, here's the next chapter - and I'm not doing anything over the summer except for a class where I just write stories, so I think you guys will get quicker updates.

**Dedication:** Well **Class of '09**, we did it. We graduated, got to throw our caps in the air, take the walk, whatever. This chapter's for you guys because we've seen each other at our best and at our worst, laughed about random crap, loved and hated, and played 20 questions one too many times. I'll miss you guys! ILY!!

**Special Thanks to:** _Laugh-Dance-Love, 12superstar, unknownbyhim22, zanessa4evr12, , myemoh, _and _Oliverwoodschic_

**Special Welcomes to:** _Friends Not Food, zanessa4evr12, _and _myemoh_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

**_Finding Your Way Back Home_**

**Chapter 9**

_What makes you hurt? What makes you smile? What calms your nerves? What drives you wild?… What's your favorite color? What's your favorite song?... What makes you curse? What makes you pray? Is your daddy your hero? What would your mama say? What I need to know, what I need to understand is what it takes to be your man… - Adam Gregory_

~*~*~

"So," I sigh incredulously as I ease into Troy's embrace. It is Sunday afternoon, the sun is peaking behind the many high-risers and the heat is still cranked to its highest point in Troy's small and well-lived-in condominium. "You ask me to lunch on a Sunday, make me mouthwatering omelets, serve the expensive coffee, watch a few episodes of _NCIS,_ and then proceed to suggest we play twenty questions?" I ask for clarification.

Troy's azure eyes hold my chocolate gaze, the twinkle evident even from afar. "That's exactly what I'm saying Montez. Why? You scared?"

"Nope," I assure him. "I just never pegged you for a Hilary Duff fan."

"'Scuse me," coughs Troy, shifting slightly so that we are face-to-face.

"Come on," I giggle. "That whole twenty questions deal is straight from the fairy tale of _A Cinderella Story_."

Troy grimaces before holding his hands up in surrender. "My niece went through my sister's old chick flicks and begged to watch it with me," he explains nonchalantly.

"You have a sister and niece?" I question suddenly sitting up just a bit straighter.

"What? You think I was genetically engineered or something?" teases Troy.

"No," I say slowly. "I guess we just haven't delved that far into our personal lives."

"And that's why the twenty questions is a good idea Ella," he states smugly.

I roll my eyes and dive for the bag of Cheetos. "Fine," I state haughtily dusting the orange powder on Troy's jeans. Ignoring his sudden outburst, I proceed to tell him, "You can go first."

"Nah, isn't it right to let the girl go first?" he asks playfully, his fingers just barely brushing my arms, leaving me shivering slightly – just not from the cold.

"If it was the girl's choice, we wouldn't be playing twenty questions," I tell him cheekily. Troy just snorts before tossing a handful of popcorn kernels in the air – successfully capturing two, with the rest falling around us. I snort this time and pop a few kernels in my mouth. "Great skills, Bolton."

"Shut up, Montez," he states, rolling his eyes slightly.

"I aim to please," I tell him before resting my head on his shoulder. "What's the first question?"

"And I'm telling you," Troy states playfully. "Girls go first."

I roll my eyes, "How about we switch on questions, but answer 'em both?" I suggest.

"Meaning?"

"Where'd you grow up Bolton?" I ask while digging around the Cheetos bag.

"Easy question Ella," he states, running his fingers through my curls. "Albuquerque, New Mexico. Up until I was twenty-one and got drafted by the Knicks. How about you?"

"Oh," I wave my hand around aimlessly. "New York City, except for the four years I attended Stanford in California. I was supposed to spend another four there, but hey things change. Next question Bolton."

"Wait," he says. "Why were you supposed to stay there?"

I bite my lip, weighing my options. The game is supposed to be totally tell-all, but am I ready to tell Troy all? I glance over Troy's head to look at the time, in exactly twenty hours I'm supposed to meet with Don and the head of the New York Crime Lab and discuss the chance of becoming an investigator. Sighing I shake my head slightly. "I was supposed to attend Stanford's law school," I disclose, giggling slightly at Troy's gob-smacked look.

"Hey," I squeak. "You think I couldn't do it?"

"Oh, no," teases Troy. "I'm wonderin' why you're an author and not a lawyer."

"I was never going to be a lawyer," I say exasperatedly. Now, Troy is looking like I am insane. I giggle and before I can stop, I am rolling around laughing my ass off. Meanwhile Troy is looking highly confused with just a hint of a smile. "I got in on a scholarship," I explain. "The scholarship though, was good for law school. I didn't want to work that branch of the criminal justice system though."

"But the work?" Troy states meekly.

"The work was nothing," I shrug. "I'm used to work. It's a nonissue in my world. Going though law school though, would give me another option if the job I really wanted fell through."

"Writing," Troy states soundly.

I shake my head, and Troy creases his brows in a frown. "I wanted to be a criminalist."

Grinning, Troy weaves his fingers through my hair again. "I should've known Ella," he teases. "So, with your connections, why aren't you doing that job?"

I stammer over my words, struggling to come up with the excuse that I have harbored over the years, except none come, except the truth. "Too many things," I reveal to him. "Writing is more important, my friends are more important," I shrug, avoiding Troy's caring gaze. "It's habit to work in the rut that I'm in," I tell him, though my conscience was saying something different: _And who am I to complain, this life is much easier than the one that I yearn for_. "Enough about me though," I tell him. "Why'd you play pro ball?"

"Oh, that's easy," Troy laughs, albeit a little bitterly. "I'm good at it."

I feel my jaw dropping. After pouring out my soul to the guy, he just gives a wimpy excuse, of 'I'm good at it'.

Troy's next words feel rushed, as if he is reassuring the both of us his real reasons. "I mean to say," he mumbles. "That it was the way it was. I became a pro-baller, 'cause that was Dad's dream." I can tell this is a sore subject so I rub my hand up and down Troy's arm as he tells the story. "Dad wanted to play pro, but he busted his knee in college so all he could was coach at the local high school." Troy stops and takes a breath. I lean against him in a comforting gesture. He sighs appreciatively before surging on. "From the time I could hold one of those small nerf balls, Dad and I were always on the court. It didn't stop when I hit grade school, in fact I became best friends with this kid, Chad Danforth, who was just as crazy about basketball as I was," Troy says ruefully.

Before I can stop myself a question tumbles from my mouth. "Are you still friends with Chad Danforth?" I ask hesitantly.

Troy glances over slightly confused, before nodding happily. He points to the small shelf where photographs in frames were lined up. Leaning closer, he singles out one of the pictures. One side of the frame held a photo of two young boys with huge smiles. The one with blue eyes and sandy hair was obviously Troy, while the other one had the skin of coffee with a dash of cream thrown in and the curliest afro, I have ever seen. On the other side of the frame, the same two boys – the one with the afro carrying a basketball, the other a diploma – are pictured with smiles and at what looks like their high school graduation, in a sea of red and white. I look at Troy who is grinning widely. "Chad always moves to his own rhythm."

"I can see," I tell him, laughing slightly. "What's Chad do?"

"Oh, well," Troy stammers, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "He was supposed to play ball with me." My mouth forms a perfect 'O' as I watch him fidget slightly. "Chad hurt himself during our last few months," Troy stops and looks at me. "I guess it's kinda sore subject, between me and him. In a nutshell, he screwed up his shoulder and back during a frat party."

I nod comfortingly, placing a small kiss on Troy's cheek. "That must suck, but that didn't answer my question," I tell him with a slight twinkle in my eyes.

Troy snorts, "He works for ESPN right here in New York. He's one of the consultants during basketball season and then works baseball in the off-season."

"Wow," I murmur. "Big job."

"Yeah, he loves it though."

"I bet. He gets to criticize all the moves of the games while getting paid."

Troy laughs loudly, "That… is exactly what he said when he accepted the position."

"How'd he get it?" I ask tentatively.

"Oh, that's easy," Troy says.

I roll my eyes. "Is it cause he's good at it?" I ask, the echo of Troy's earlier statement.

Laughing, Troy shakes his head slightly. "Well, he is good at it, but in truth, some guy from ESPN walked over to us at the end of one of our games where it was announced that Chad wouldn't be playing due to an injury and the guy just walks over and asks if he wants to head up to the announcer place with some of the guys and do that job," Troy pauses and stuffs a few kernels of popcorn in his mouth. "The whole game was frickin' hilarious, but still really impartial. The ESPN guy loved it so much that he took us out for drinks and proceeded to tell Chad that he had a job."

I laugh lightly. "Will I ever get to meet this best friend of yours?"

"I dunno," teases Troy. "I told him that my place was off limits today. So maybe in a year or two."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me about your family," I tell him my eyes slightly downcast as I pick at a nonexistent thread on my t-shirt. Families have always been _my _sore subject, at least since Dad died, but since Troy knows my family, it is only fair that I know about his… I guess.

"Oh," he says after a moment. "You know all about 'em."

I glance up, his blue eyes bright, before I break the gaze to look at the photos on the ledge, my eyes searching for a family picture.

"It's the third from the left," Troy whispers, pointing it out for me. "Kinda hard to miss considering that it's the biggest one there." I laugh quietly as I look over the picture. It was indeed the biggest photograph there. Four people all with big smiles on their faces had their arms around each other and were grinning at the camera. The picture could not be that old, Troy looked about the same, but at the same time younger. He was on the far left; next to him was a woman who looked to be just a few years older with hair darker than Troy's and hazel eyes instead of Troy's cerulean ones. Her smile though, that was the same as Troy's. My eyes slide to the next person – an older male with the build of a former athlete still in tip-top shape, eyes the same as the young woman's – and finally, the last individual in the photo was of an older woman with the same bright blue eyes as Troy but the same petite stature as the younger woman.

I feel Troy ease up from our embrace to cross the small space between the couch and entertainment system. He picks up a few frames of group shots before returning to his spot behind me. Curious, I pick up the picture to inspect it further.

"This," he says pointing at the photo I had been peering at from across the way. "Was taken six summers ago, before my sister's wedding." I nod, taking in the fancy attire of the four Boltons. "This is, obviously me," he says pointing to the boy on the far left before continuing down the line. "My sister, Madison, my dad, Jack, and my mom, Lucille."

"You guys look happy," I say quietly, knowing the truth was never in pictures – families who I was closer too were testaments to that bit of knowledge.

"Yeah," breathes Troy. "We are." He picks up another picture, this time with three individuals – his sister, and who I assume are her husband and daughter. "This was taken last winter, Maddie and Jeff – her husband – came to New York for New Years, that's their daughter, Sophie."

"She's so cute," I whisper looking at the picture of the happy family, the toddler was giggling and in the act of waving to the camera as her parents smiled on.

"Yeah," says Troy proudly.

"Do they live in Albuquerque?" I ask playing with the edge of the frame.

Troy shakes his head. "Nah, Jeff got an offer to go work in Denver, so that's where they are right now. I see 'em whenever the team gets shipped to play the Nuggets and over the summer, they come over here to hang around. Maddie's a teacher you see."

I nod silently, before carefully picking up the last frame; it was the one of Troy and Chad. "I wish I had a friendship like you and Chad's," I whisper to Troy.

"You seem to be doing pretty well with Taylor, Kelsi, and Sharpay," says Troy slightly confused.

I laugh bitterly, "They're my friends – I guess. If the term friendship means that you shop, drink, and talk with one another, then yes they're my friends."

"Hey, hey," Troy says, wrapping his arms around me. "You seem to be better friends with the cops who were giving me the evil eye."

I laugh through a sniffle, before leaning down for my purse. I sift around for a few seconds before emerging with my wallet. Handing it to Troy I tell him to open the first flap. Confused, I watch as Troy follows my instructions and reveals a rather beat-up picture. He takes it out carefully, throwing me glance. Instead of what I assume Troy believes to be a picture of me, Sharpay, Kelsi, and Taylor from our formative years instead is a picture of me and Don back when we were six and nine respectively.

"Cute," laughs Troy. "Didn't think a socialite would be one to play around in the dirt."

I shove him playfully, before proceeding to pluck the photo out of his hand. "This has yet to fill a frame, but it's probably my most prized photo besides the ones of me and my dad."

"Is that why he's so protective of you?" asks Troy hesitantly. I knew the 'he' Troy was referring to without needing to ask.

I shrug, "His own sister's a complete waste of space apparently, so he channels all that big brotherness into me instead of Sam."

Troy nods. "You still seem slightly bitter," he points out.

"How would you feel if your parents sent you to a fancy private school in Manhattan from the time you were in kindergarten to when you graduated from high school and you befriended the prettiest and richest and most popular girls in school just because they thought you were one of them and then for the next thirteen years of your life you're stuck working a billion jobs to pay for fancy clothes and designer bags and pedicures and manicures when all you really wanted to do was go to your local catholic school like the neighborhood kids, play hockey and baseball and go to the shooting range with your best friend who just so happens to be a guy, and work your ass off for a job that pays next to nothing just so that you could feel closer to your dead father," I state hotly, fuming slightly.

Troy winces as he places a comforting hand on my arm. "I would be just as pissed as you are now," he tells me quietly. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he laughs lightly. Turning around I find him holding his picture of him and his friend Chad. "And I thought I had it bad in school," he mutters.

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well, I guess," Troy rolls his eyes slightly as he throws his head back. "I gave you the watered down version of my life, but since you so kindly let me in on your torture, I guess I can reveal my own." My brows crease as I open my mouth, ready to issue the truth that my life was actually quite pleasant, before I realize that Troy's just about to elaborate a bit more. "I mean, my father and I were always kinda off-script in the way we dealt with things. For him it was _always_ basketball, like I said before, but I mean it was obsessive. He was my coach as well as my dad in high school, which is when sports really truly matter."

I nod encouragingly, even though I know the truth already. Don was always quick to tell me about college scouts at hockey games even though he and I both knew he was not going to attend college.

Troy sighs before continuing. "He had this plan set up since before I can remember, I'd play ball, go to his alma mater – University of Albuquerque – and then go on and play pro ball. I followed his plan to a tee," Troy says hollowly. "Never once did I stray off the path. I was the cool guy in school, made the varsity basketball team as a sophomore and lead the team to back-to-back championships when I was captain in my junior and senior years. And in college, I was a starter in my freshman year and once again captain during my junior and senior years, part of one of the big fraternities, partied long and hard while getting good grades. But I was never anything other than the basketball guy and I never will be." His last few words seem to be spoken at in a whisper and had a dejected air about them.

The silence is oppressing, but not strained as we sit together and watch as the sun starts to dip lower. Finally though, laughter bubbles to the surface as I open my mouth, "What an inspiring couple we make, Mr. Bolton. An acclaimed best-selling author wishing to be digging around someone's murder scene and a famous all-star basketball player who's only doing the sport to make his dad proud."

Troy laughs manically at that last statement while at the same time pulling me close. "I made my choice though," he whispers against my skin. "I could've backed out and attended UC Berkeley like I wanted to, but I didn't and now I'm paying for it by dragging my feet during games."

I, meanwhile, shake my head. "I had the same choice you did. I could've declined the offer to publish my book, but it seemed like easy money at the time and I got swept under the current of being friends with three socialites making headways in the tabloids. I craved the money and having a name to match their's."

"And I'm still hoping against hope that after all is said and done, my number'll be retired," mumbles Troy.

"I wouldn't worry about that Superstar," I tease in a serious voice. "I've seen your stats, you're one helluva player Bolton."

Troy just throws me his signature smile before ruefully shaking his head, "I like how this was supposed to be a game about what's your favorite movie or what was your least favorite subject in school and instead we make it out to be a bitch and moan about our lives."

I giggle my head resting against Troy's strong chest. "I rather liked this tell-all though."

"I'm sure," he says wryly. "But please, so when I tell my mom and dad all about you I can tell them more than 'Oh, Ella hates her job and the three girls she calls friends'."

"Ass," I mutter, shoving him lightly. "I don't hate Shar or Kelsi or Tay, they're just difficult right now. I've never really hated them before. I've been jealous, annoyed, ticked, and even pissed at them, but I've never hated them. They were the only girls I could call friends before Stella and then Lindsay came along."

Troy nods in a silent understanding before his eyes twinkle again. "But really Ella," he whines. "What's your favorite color?"

I laugh and roll my eyes, "Surprisingly pink – but not that vivid bubble gum pink. Rather the light rose colored one, kinda dusted and muted."

Troy nods slowly, "Why can't girls just say blue or pink or black without the added details?"

"We're picky," I state. "Why, what's your favorite color?"

"Red or orange," says Troy with the familiarity that I suspect the choices have not changed for a good chunk of time. I raise my eyebrow as if to raise the question of _why?_ Troy shrugs in a _beats me_ kind of motion.

"How about favorite movie?" I ask.

"_Gran Torino_," Troy states. I scoff, remembering the movie. "Oh, don't start Ella. I'm gonna guess that you're favorite movie is some Disney chick flick?"

"I'm thirty not thirteen Bolton," I remind him, before smiling slightly. "I love _Silence of the Lambs_," I reveal before Troy's mouth drops open.

"I should've known," he mutters. I grin and open my mouth, before Troy beats me to the next question. "In keeping with this bland questionnaire, I believe it is only fair to ask what your favorite book is."

"Oh," I say as my mind processes the hundreds if not thousands of books I've read in my thirty years. If writing is my way of venting, reading is my way of escaping. I love it when I can pick up a book and completely forget all in the world except the pages in which I am immersed in.

"Oh," teases Troy. "That's all you got for me?"

"Hold on a sec," I tell him, my brain still sifting through titles until I let out a breath. "Don't laugh," I warn him. Troy holds his hands up in the air, with another big grin on his face. "The _Harry Potter_ Series."

"Really," says Troy as he jokingly prods me in the nose. "I would've thought you'd go for the mysteries."

"Nah, but I'm surprised you didn't tease me about it possibly being a chick book like what I write."

"I highly doubt you'd like one of them," Troy says with an air of assurance. I raise an eyebrow, before he elaborates. "Your life at the moment is almost like one of those chick books so it's not really escaping is it?" I nod, while a smile finds its way across my face. "Hey, I'm smart," jokes Troy.

I roll my eyes. "I never said you weren't. But, what's your favorite book?"

"Oh, y'know _Calvin and Hobbs_," laughs Troy. "The good stuff."

"Oh, really?" I ask faking interest.

"Nah, I like the classics," says Troy. "Kurt Vonnegut's works, especially _Cat's Cradle_ and _Slaughterhouse Five_ are some of my favorites."

"I remember when I had to read _Slaughterhouse Five_ in high school, a bunch of the girls were bitching about how horrid the book was," I roll my eyes. "It was actually a really good read, but all of them didn't like the fact that it was assigned during Fashion Week."

"Oh that sucks," murmurs Troy as I feel him draw me close. "But how 'bout we do this right," he tells me. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

I smile slightly. I could play his game and give him the answer from the movie, or a variation of it, _or_ I could give him my own. "I believe in happily-ever-after and prince charming," I tell Troy, remembering a long ago conversation with Kelsi, Sharpay, and Taylor. "And by default, I _have _to believe in love at first sight, I need the magic of fairytales. Why? Do you?" I ask him turning around to look him in the eyes.

As cerulean meets chocolate, I watch as the playful twinkle that Troy's eyes have held the entire afternoon disappear and instead I see something else in the depths of his eyes, something I just cannot quite place. He gently places a hand on my cheek as I stop breathing.

"Yes, I do," he whispers to me.

It is with those three words that I finally understand the true importance of love and fairy tales and the feeling that everyone who has ever been in love while being in a difficult situation at the same time. The hesitant smile he gives me before placing his lips on mine gives me more strength than anything I could do on my own. The fact that he will be there to catch me if I fall tells me to walk headlong into a different career and, as he wraps his arms around me, I know that whatever happens to my friendships, he'll be there at the end of the long road. But, when we break apart, it is my mother's words that whisper in my ear first: _You know when there's something special. It's a feeling that we can't explain but understand. _I hate telling Mom 'You were right'.

~*~*~

* * *

This kinda rambled on, so not quite sure about it, but it was needed as y'all can hopefully tell. But, you all know the drill: review please! Tell me how you felt instead of me wallowing in my own thoughts.


	11. Building or Destroying the Sandcastles

**A/N**: Hey, I know that a good amount of you have expressed your, shall we say, dislike towards Kelsi, Taylor, and Sharpay. I know that I've made them to be dislikeable characters, but remember - this is _all_ told from Gabriella's point of view and if she's ticked with her best gal pals at the moment, she's definitely not gonna show 'em in the best light. Y'all cannot honestly tell me that you've always been super happy with your BFFLs - hell, even I've picked fights with my 'sisters'. So yeah, I kinda wanted to say that, but I doubt many people read these things, so maybe I should shut up now... Oh! yeah, I would've had this up sooner, but I've gotten sucked into the universe of all things _Harry Potter _on this site, so I've been sidetracked XD

**BTW:** If anyone is curious as to what all the characters actually look like go to: **photobucket (dot) com/back_home0characters** - obviously remove the (dot) and put a . Also, I would like to say that I have no idea what is needed for applying for an investigator post with the NYPD, most of my information is gathered from all 3 _CSI:_ shows, which will probably give me somewhat sketchy details, considering no one's truly applied for the jobs on the shows.

**Special Thanks To**: _Laugh-Dance-Love, zacefron321, unknownbyhim22, 12superstar, Kessy0105, TohruSeraphina, luvesdolphins, _and _zanessa4evr12_

**Special Welcomes To**: _yams14, Kessy0105, _and _DaisyLab_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

**_Finding Your Way Back Home_**

**Chapter 10**

_Courage is when you've lost your way, but you find your strength anyway. Courage is when you're afraid. Courage is when it all seems grey. Courage is when you make a change, and you keep on living anyway – The Strange Familiar _

_It's like jumping in an empty pool, going on thinking faith could be so cruel. And you never know what mess you're getting yourself into… Oh, when you thought you'd never turn it around it's in that moment that something gives – Sara Paxton_

~*~*~

"Deep breaths," I mutter to myself as I enter the towering building that houses New York's crime lab and medical examiner's office, along with other departments. This was definitely not my first time walking into the lobby with its metal detectors, security guards, and glass walls it was not even my tenth time. At least twice a week I walk through the hallways of the thirty-fifth floor talking with the detective investigators. Today, though, was the first time I would be talking to the head of the crime lab as a possible employee and _not_ as a friend.

Waving politely to the guard I sign in and accept the visitor's badge, clipping it to my belt while I make my way across the tiled floor to the elevators. Pressing the button with the number thirty-five on it I take another deep breath as the little metal box begins its ascent. For a few seconds it is silent, but then my phone decides to sing to the praises of Taylor Swift and I jump a few inches in the air.

"Oh yeah, I'm nervous," I mumble quietly as I check my phone surprised to see three new messages.

The first is from Lindsay: **Fingers crossed, don't worry – Mac's in a good mood. ;) Ur guaranteed a spot.**

I smile at her words, she truly is my best girl friend, but even that cannot help pat down all the nervous butterflies. Instead of replying, I move on to the next message as the elevator comes to a halt at the twelfth floor and a few tired looking officers tumble in. I give a small smile, moving into a corner as the overworked men complain about autopsies.

The second is – gratefully – from Don: **On the way Brie, don't think I'm gonna make u face Mac on ur own. Everything'll b fine tho, trust me. **

The third, though, is surprising: **Don't hate me 4 skimming ur planner yesterday Ella. Seems u didn't need 2 vent 2 me 2 kno exactly what 2 do in life. Good luck, I'm sure u'll b fine. **

My heart melts as I realize that Troy truly is there for me every step of the way, going out of his way to text me reassurance and invading my privacy to make sure that I am alright. The only other guy who does that is Don, but I sure as hell do not want to date him. By now, the elevator has come to another halt and with both a sinking and uplifting feeling; I realize that my stop has arrived. One more deep breath and I walk out of the metal box and into the hustle and bustle that makes up the New York Police Department's infamous Crime Lab. With its glass walls, cutting edge technology, spotless white lab coats, and buzzing atmosphere this is definitely a far cry from the norm, but it gives a slightly calming effect as I make my nervous way from the elevators to Mac Taylor's office. My heels click on the tiled floor and I take another steady breath as my suddenly sweaty hand touches the cool metal handle of the office door and I push it open, my heart beating quickly in my chest. Taking a few more tentative steps, put on a small smile and stand in front of Mac's desk, where piles of case folders sit, but unfortunately not the head boss of the Crime Lab. I let out an audible sigh as the calm exterior I have been projecting crumbles somewhat as I sit in on the couch perfectly positioned on the side wall – the only one not made of glass.

Waiting has never been my forte. When I was younger, I will be the first to admit that I would be running around instead of sitting primly on a chair, bouncing on the balls of my feet in excitement before claiming my graded assignments, and I would always – and still do – shake the presents under the tree before opening them. Waiting around makes me reflect and question and wonder and worry, and I hate doing all those things. I like to _know_ not question.

I glance around the impressive office once again as my eyes fall on a clock and I realize that I am a good five minutes early. _Great, just what I need more waiting, _I think as my eyes slide to the shiny gold nameplate on the desktop. The words: Detective Mac Taylor, make my stomach do a little flip. Here I am actually doing what _I _want to do for the first time in _years_. It is quite a riveting feeling, if I do say so myself. There is not a crime lab in the world I would rather be in. Not in Las Vegas or Miami or D.C. or Chicago. Not one of them would give me the same kind of feeling that working under Mac Taylor, hopefully, will.

Mac is one of the best NYPD officers I know - coming in only after Don, Flack Sr., and Daddy. He takes each case to heart – even if it is with an air of detachment – believing in both old-fashioned police work and the evidence to get the job done. Danny and Stella have told me that there are three things that Mac will protect at any cost: the honor of his country, the safety of his city, and the integrity of his lab. But regardless of the slightly hard and calculating feeling he can give you at times, he has been known to 'be human' as Don likes to put it. I know that Mac worked with Dad a few times, before the incident, and that Don has nothing but respect for the boss of the crime lab, but I cannot help but feel a bit intimidated as the chatter outside dies down slightly and Mac and Don walk out of the elevators, plainly discussing what looks to be evidence in a case as they are looking down at a few sheets of paper, and head towards the very office that I have situated myself in. While Mac is not physically frightening – he is at least four or five inches shorter than Don and lacks the obvious chiseled muscle that Danny has – his tired face, cool grey eyes, and knowing smirk tell of a man who has seen the worst and can dish out the same and then some.

I quickly stand up as the two walk in, mentally berating myself for being so jumpy. Don, of course, notices me first. He always says that I have a distinct scent, and I always tell him that flattery does not work with me. After Don's obvious look, Mac notices me as well and in replace of the cool, indifferent face he wears normally it is replaced by a warm smile; albeit with a tab bit of surprise in his eyes that seem to have lost their steely look.

"Well, well," greets Mac as he turns to face me. Unconsciously I tuck a stray curl behind my ear with my right hand while my left goes to smooth out my pants leg. I can see Don roll his eyes and mouth 'You look fine' before smiling widely, his ice blue eyes shining excitedly.

"Hey Brie," says Don as he walks over to give me a hug. "How'd you ditch your little posse? Tell 'em a story 'bout some crazy Barnes and Noble shit you had to do?"

I laugh as I return to the hug. "Nah, haven't talked to 'em since I ditched 'em Saturday to head to Middle Village."

"Oh really," says Don with a wink before he stops suddenly and fixes me with a stare. "What, if I may ask, were you doin' in Queens?"

"Ugh," I groan. "Can't a girl visit her own mother?"

Don rolls those beautiful baby blues of his before we turn to Mac who has obviously been watching us with amusement.

"May I have my investigator back, Flack?" Mac asks seriously, while I stifle a giggle. Mac… Flack… oh there had better not be any more rhyming games here; otherwise I will probably die from laughter.

"Nah," says Don, playfully draping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm sittin' in on this interview." Mac grins slightly. "Gotta make sure you're treatin' my girl right."

I scoff and mock-glare at Don, "Your girl?"

"Exactly that Brie," teases Don.

I shake my head and break free from Don's embrace. Flashing a quick grin his way to assure him of no-harm-no-foul, I take my last deep breath and then walk over to Mac, extending my arm as I do so. "Detective Taylor," I greet him. "Thanks for agreeing to see me."

Mac laughs silently as he takes my proffered hand, "Not at all Miss Montez, I've been looking for another investigator." He gestures to one of the two seats in front of his desk and I sit down in one while Mac walks around the desk to his own seat and Don takes the other empty one.

Leaning down, I quickly go through my purse and emerge with a small manila file that holds my so-called transcripts. "Here Detective," I say with a wink. Mac and I had agreed earlier that we were going to do the interview and the subsequent tests and lessons as by-the-book as possible – but Don, is slightly out of the loop.

Mac nods as he glances over them, "Everything seems in order. Bachelor of Science in Chemistry from Stanford University, summer internship at the San Francisco crime lab, recommendations from the San Francisco head and," – here Mac's voice rose in surprise – "Stella Bonasera."

I cough quietly. "I took a quick class in forensics at Chelsea University Detective. Stella was nice enough to write me a recommendation."

Mac smiles as he flips to the page regarding that forensics course I took a few years back. I grin smugly knowing that my marks were high, probably the highest in the class. "Impressive," he tells me, before looking up to meet my eyes. "I'd like to impress something of importance though Gabriella. You, unlike the rest of the team, – excluding Hawkes – have not gone through the police academy so you are just an investigator, _not _a detective."

"I understand Mac," I say. In fact, I have been waiting for that warning since the meeting has begun, Don and Danny having told me about it years ago.

"However," interrupts Don, grinning mischievously. "I have arranged for Brie to carry a weapon. She's gone to the range enough times… and really, Mac, the Doc has a shield and everythin' – he's practically a detective."

"There are proper channels Don, you very well know that," Mac sighs. "Gabriella still has to take the exam, the two-week trainee program, and pass her three proficiency tests before she can even be considered as part of the team."

"Mac," I say hesitantly. "When I was an intern in San Francisco, my boss at the time – Coolidge – told me that the time I spent there was like my probationary time."

"Yes," agrees Mac. "But more likely if you stayed with Coolidge instead of hope to come here. New York takes its recruits very seriously; normally budget cuts keep me from hiring some of the best. It was hard to have Sinclair agree to hire Sheldon, especially since he is such an asset in the ME's office, while Lindsay was needed to replace Aiden after I fired her. I just have to go through the right channels Gabriella, I know that it's a pain in the ass, and if I could, I would put you to work right now, but I can't."

"I understand Mac," I say sadly. "Never expected to really be taken up on the –"

Mac silences me with a wave of his hand. "You misunderstood me Gabriella. I only meant to say that while you are a competent investigator, you still have to take the classes required of a new employee. I was _not _inferring that you were being turned down."

My mouth formed a perfect 'o' shape before it transformed to a sheepish grin. "So I'm on the grid?"

Mac nods in acknowledgement. "In crude terms, yes, you are on the grid."

"Good," interjects Don. "Now that that's settled, what else is needed of Brie before she can be gettin' 3 am calls just like the rest of us?"

Here Mac rolls his eyes. Picking up a few books and packets he throws a warning glace to Don before he hands me the pile of information. "Look over those Gabriella, you can let me know whenever you want to take the test, but I would suggest that you wait a week before you have the sit down. In the meantime though, you can start your training program. You'll be put with either myself or Stella," Mac pauses to give me a small smile. "I am hiring you because I'm gonna put you on my team, not the second response one. Otherwise you would be going to Macy Jackson, she's the head of that one."

"Be glad Mac wants you," warns Don. "Mace is good and all, but Mac and Stell and everyone else work with the big cases, the second response gets B&Es and accidents, nothin' fun."

"Good to know," I say. "So, can I start tomorrow?"

Mac nods, "I've already cleared you with Sinclair. He's impressed, of course, I think Don, Stella, and Danny have something to do with that."

Don chuckles at that, "We were just wanted to have a chat with him."

"Yeah, I bet," Mac says dryly. "Well, on the bright side, everything seems in order." He hands me an ID, not unlike the visitor badges I usually sport. "Now, you're one of us. I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

"I'll take my test Friday Mac," I say as we all rise, realizing that the 'interview' has concluded.

"Are you sure?" he asks surprised.

"I've wanted this job for almost a decade," I tell him. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"It'll be arranged," agrees Mac. He nods to Don and me before, he sits back down and we walk out the door and into the break room where – surprise, surprise – Stella, Lindsay, Danny, and a man about the same height as Danny with skin the color of milk chocolate and a warm smile, Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, are waiting for us.

"So?" Stella asks first, while the rest wait with 'bated' breath.

"I'm in," I announce happily, while Lindsay and Stella squeal excitedly.

"Excellent," grins Sheldon.

Danny, meanwhile, draws me into a hug. "Knew you could do it Montez."

Mac, of course, chooses this moment to walk in. "Yeah, we'll welcome her later, right now there's a killer that needs to be caught." Everyone nods, understanding the pressing importance of the situation, and the team disperses with a few goodbyes and congrats thrown at me, while I try to hide my grin at the fact that soon, I will be a part of all this...

~*~*~

The nice thing about the Crime Lab is that it is located right in the middle of midtown Manhattan on Broadway, just blocks away from the famed theatre district – which is where I found myself walking towards after my meeting. Snow is falling all around me, lightly not the slush that occurred earlier. It is giving the city a fairytale atmosphere again, reminding me why men and woman flock to the Big Apple each year. Dreams, hopes, aspirations all live in this big city and but, not all of them are fulfilled. Friendships and relationships are formed and then shattered and I, unlike the ones who have come to escape, find myself calling this jungle 'home'. Here is where my family, my friends, my ex-boyfriends, my soul mate, my jobs, my first apartment, my childhood home, my teenage haunts, and my local knowledge all reside. Here I have risen to the top and made enemies. Here is where I have lied through my teeth, partied 'til the crack of dawn, had my heart broken too many times to count, forgiven countless friends, grieved for the loss of my father, and wished upon a falling star. While my 'home' is New York City, I know that I have lost my footing on my path back home. Fresh air always seems to make me think and discover and delve deeper, which is why it is no surprise that I find myself walking towards the impressive theatre of Kelsi and Ryan's _Twinkle Towne_ production with a need to right what is wrong in my world.

~*~*~

Humming quietly under my breath I head into a theatre and nod to the janitor cleaning the tiles in the entrance hallway before making my way to the house – or auditorium – and stop just outside the door.

Someone is singing, singing a really old tune. I smile sadly as I catch the tune, one of Kelsi's earlier compositions, a song she had written during our high school years for Ryan and Sharpay's Julliard audition. I hear Ryan's crooning voice belt out the chords with Kelsi no doubt playing the piano. Not wanting to interrupt, I find myself opening the door a crack to slip in and listen to the two of them rehearse.

"Come on Kels," begs Ryan from center stage as the music stops abruptly while I watch the composer fidget in her spot by the piano. "You know I love that song, but surprise me here, this isn't rehearsal. Strike up a tune, any tune."

I giggle from my seat in the back as Kelsi complies – albeit grudgingly – and immediately the cavernous room is filled with the simple and beautiful notes of another old song, one that I remember watching Kelsi pen eagerly at our lunch table during our last months at East Side Academy and suddenly I feel a longing to go back in time, to high school, where everything seemed so much easier. But before my mind can delve further into my memories, Kelsi starts singing quietly.

"_It's our last chance, to share the stage, before we go our separate ways_," she sings, before Ryan joins in on the next verse.

"_High school wasn't meant to last forever_," they harmonize here, and then Kelsi drops out so that Ryan has a solo.

"_It's_ _our last chance, for us to shine to bring you music one more time_," he sings with an air of nostalgia.

"_So come on, come on, come on_," sings Kelsi, a smile evident in her voice.

"_Come on, come on, come on_," interjects Ryan.

"_Come on, come on, come on…"_ they sing before fading out and Kelsi plays the last note.

I grin before putting my hands together and clapping loudly, obviously forgoing the air of secrecy. I watch as my friends blush and grin bashfully at the same time. "I've forgotten that song," I say honestly as I hop up on the stage and join their little group. "Forgotten how beautiful it was."

Kelsi nods her head in pride. "I've forgotten too," she says. "Not that _Twinkle Towne_ isn't what I thought it should be it's just that…"

"It isn't what you thought it would be," I say finishing Kelsi's line of thought.

She nods sadly. "The producers of the show want something flashy, not heartwarming."

I roll my eyes, "Oh come on Kels, this is _your_ show, not theirs. It should be what _you_ want it to be. They should listen to you otherwise, they really have no show."

I sigh, it does not matter whether we are grown adults or teenagers, the old put downs still seem to seep through at the worst of times. I remember Kelsi's old personality, always quiet and obeying. It took Sharpay, Taylor, and myself years to crack through Kelsi's shy shell and for a good amount of time she became the confident, funny, and talented woman that she is, but sometimes – just like with everyone else – there are repercussions.

"I don't know, Gabi," Kelsi says hesitantly. Ryan is hanging off to the side; obviously he does not want to mix with this encouragement battle.

"Hey, I know the feeling of people pressuring you to change what your creativity has created, but you can't expect to always follow their rules," I say knowingly.

Kelsi nods but does not broach the subject further. "So what've you been doing?" she asks me.

I shrug noncommittally, "Just y'know the normal things. Tryin' to finish my book, nothing special." I have decided to keep my new job a secret for as long as possible.

"You make headway with your latest boy toy yet?" questions Kelsi slyly. Behind us, Ryan gives a hacking cough. We both – in true girl fashion – choose to ignore him.

"He is _not_ a boy toy Kels," I scoff at her. "I actually think I gonna try for him."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning that those fairytales we dream about may be coming true for me."

"Really," says Kelsi shocked.

"Really," I repeat smugly. Kelsi's face softens to a shy grin, and I am suddenly reminded why Kelsi and I are friends. The pressure and acceptance was one thing, but her personality and Taylor's and Sharpay's were the reason why I have hung around as long as I have. The young naïveté is still there in all of us, the fact that our personalities and aspirations are so different are the reason why we are such great friends and yet – after years of swearing that it was our strongest bond and not our weakest link – my mind has suddenly betrayed all these years of friendship because of a few twinges of annoyance, okay, maybe not a _few_, but there is not enough to really destroy these sandcastles… are there?

* * *

And so the plot thickens... ;) Review Please!


	12. A Fairytale Fit For Reality

**A/N**: You're welcome to seriously hurt me, I swear... hehe my really lame excuse is that I got _really _bad writer's block. I seriously wrote this chapter thirty different ways, before totally scrapping it with the accompanying phrase of 'screw it'. And then I decided to take a break (for apparently all of summer xD) I lost that spark to write _High School Musical_ or even _CSI: NY_, I was on a really bad _Harry Potter_ and _Bones_ kick, but I hope you guys are still with me even though I've left you hanging for a good two months. I, personally, do not believe this to be my best work. I have toiled over it, but have decided to post it regardless, so if anyone's reading this ginormous author's note, let me say I'm sorry! if you really, really hate it. I have one more week before school starts so maybe I'll be able to write some more, but I'm in a serious rut right now - I've watched _Senior Year!_ about a hundred times and have put all the soundtracks on repeat in hope that it got me into the mode again. But really, **I'M SO SORRY!**

**BTW**: Now that Gabriella 'kinda' has the job as a criminologist, I'm gonna try and keep the crime scene stuff and whatever else that is in correlation with that field as simplistic and G-rated as possible. This isn't a forensic mystery, it's a romance and I get that. But, I make no promises that in the future a crime scene might be a little more bloody and in-depth - remember I put this as rated T and I did that for a good reason (not just because Troy and Gabriella are going to be making out at every opportunity). This chapter is really bland on both the gory aspect of a real crime scene and of all things forensics because I'm lazy and it has absolutely nothing to do with the real plot. But when I do write about it, I will try to explain the procedures of forensics in layman's terms - scout's honor. I've taken a few courses in it and I like it when all my facts are true. But if you have any issue with what I'll be writing in the future, please let me know and I'll try to abide by your wishes, but still no promises - this is _my_ story.

(my little back-to-action speech is officially done... I swear)

**Special Thanks To**: _Laugh-Dance-Love, unknownbyhim22, Kessy0105, MusicandtheMirror, zanessa4evr12, , __Midnight113, Shell-Bell87, WildGirl51_

**Special Welcome To**:_ MusicandtheMirror_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 11**

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road, time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go. So make the best of this test, and don't ask why, it's not a question, but a lesson learned in time…_ _– Green Day_

_Ever since I was a baby girl I had a dream, Cinderella themed, crazy as it seems… Now my life doesn't seem so bad, it's the best that I've ever had. Give my love to him finally_ _- Fergie_

~*~*~

My fingers lightly strum along to the melody playing in my head as Kelsi's talented hands hit the keys on her beloved piano, blending harmoniously with my music. Ryan joins in with a guitar of his own while Taylor hums playfully. For a few moments, each of us is lost to the music we are creating and slowly the stress that has been building steadily starts leaking away. I feel a smile unconsciously spread across my face as Kelsi kicks up the tune and Ryan sings the words. I shake my head in recognition of the tune I had unknowingly started playing and start singing along as well.

"_So make the best of this test, and don't ask why. It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time_," I sing quietly while Ryan belts it out. By the chorus though, Taylor and Kelsi have joined in, our voices blend in perfect harmony and fill the auditorium with our impromptu concert.

The four of us are laughing and smiling. Singing loudly completely oblivious to anything but the feeling of being back in high school again, sneaking into the music room to goof off during free period. It is obvious that Ryan and Kelsi are enjoying the idea of singing without a director and cast watching them and waiting for direction. Taylor is glad for the opportunity to breathe and enjoy the moment for once in her life. And as for me, I find myself singing without being prodded (or drunk) to do so.

"_It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life_," we end while Kelsi plays a few notes with flourish.

"I've forgotten how much fun that is," grins Taylor as she sits down on an empty stool Ryan dragged out for her.

Kelsi nods proudly, "Yep, that's why I love my job."

"Don't start about jobs," I murmur quietly. "We'll never hear the end of the Mayor's screw ups."

Ryan and Taylor laugh loudly while Kelsi giggles and shakes her head. "Fine," she states. "How about we talk about men, Gabi."

"No way," exclaims Ryan. "Wait to do that until after I leave you three."

"But that's no fun," I tease him while trying to contain my laughter. "But no, we're _so_ not talking about men 'cause all that'll lead to is you and Tay trying to get info about Troy outta me, Kels."

"That's her exact plan," says Taylor with a conspiratorial grin on her face. "In fact, I'm not opposed to it one bit. I'd love to hear all about famous Troy Bolton."

"Nothing to tell," I state haughtily, hoping they will catch the hint and drop the subject, but no such luck, Kelsi and Taylor close in on me, firing questions while Ryan sneaks up from behind and eases the guitar from my grip before running backstage to leave me by myself. _The_ _Idiot_. "Really, I'm serious guys, there's nothing juicy to tell. How about we just head to that bar you were telling me about Tay," I say with just the slightest hint of exasperation. Luckily, _that_ diverted Taylor's attention.

"Oh yeah," she says. "There's more to that. Remember Katie Montenegro?" she asks us just as Ryan reenters – _figures._

"Yeah, she's that up-and-coming new fashion designer right?" he says, moving to stand next to Kelsi.

"The very same," nods Taylor. "But more to the point…"

I grin widely as I jump up and down like a kid who knows the answer to a tough question. Taylor nods to me and I open my mouth. "Katie was your roommate at Yale and she's just been given her own line at Marc Jacobs," I state proudly.

"Ding-ding-ding," teases Taylor. "We have a winner. Yep, tonight's the launch party and she's invited all of us."

"That's great," exclaims Kelsi. "I haven't seen Katie in so long, and I really need a drink."

_Crap_. "Don't let me get drunk," I tell the three.

"Why?" asks Ryan. "That's how you love to end a day."

I grumble under my breath, but answer, "I have an important meeting tomorrow and would prefer to be completely sober rather than hung-over." _Danny and Don would get a kick out of that one if I show up on my first day looking the hell_, I think to myself.

Taylor and Kelsi start ribbing me about my past encounters with a party and then work. I pointedly ignore them by rolling my eyes and grabbing my coat and purse and motion to my group of friends. "Better not keep them waiting." Ryan, Kelsi, and Taylor all grin as they follow my actions – but more importantly drop the topic. I sigh as I slide into Taylor's brand-new _Lincoln _sedan, Kelsi and Ryan opting to take the latter's SUV_._ _It is beginning to feel just like old times again, and I am definitely enjoying it,_ I think. Who would have thought two weeks would bring so many confusing and unbidden feelings? Reality is finally catching up, I suppose, the path I chose back at that fork in the road long ago is finally merging with the one I did not take and giving me a chance at everything I missed.

I glance over at Taylor who is chatting about some random new public relations guy at City Hall, while the radio is softly playing a Taylor Swift song and I nod to myself. _This is life, _I think, _regardless of how difficult it can be._

~*~*~

The next morning dawns bright and early. The air is crisp and cool, the sky a clear blue, the snow still on the ground in piles glittering in the sunlight. All is well, I think as I step off the elevator and into the crime lab. Mac and Stella are just off to the left, right in front of Mac's office – in fact – when they stop me.

"You're with me today," Mac states simply, bypassing a simple 'hello'.

"And good morning to you too, detectives," I say teasingly, taking in Mac's pressed slacks and customary blue oxford, as well as Stella's black dress pants, heeled boots, and scoop-neck green shirt. I glance down at my own jeans, pumps, and blouse.

Stella obviously notices and tells me off before I am too self-conscious. "You look fine," she says with a wink. "The only ones who have to actually look truly professional are the detectives. We all come to work in jeans."

I smile at the encouragement. "Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome," says Stella. She nods to Mac. "I'll see you; have to catch up on all that paperwork. Have fun Gabriella."

I wave good-bye while Danny takes Stella's vacated spot in our little circle.

"I get to work with Montez today?" grins Danny. He rubs his hands together. "Oh this'll be fun."

I glance at Mac and watch as he tries valiantly to not roll his eyes, he succeeds – barely. "Yes, Gabriella will be working with us, Flack's already at the scene."

I perk up even more. "Don's there?" Mac nods and then realizes what he has just said and proceeds to survey Danny and me.

"I picked the worst group didn't I?" he asks smiling.

"Nah," says Danny. "You picked the best one. Flack, Montez, _and _me all workin' the same case?" He bounces on the balls of his feet. "It's already solved."

Mac shakes his head before handing me a slip of paper. "Your locker combination is on that, your kit should be in your locker along with the customary windbreaker if you want it. Grab your kit and meet us in the garage in five."

I nod and walk down the hallway purposefully before turning around to hesitatingly glance at Danny and Mac, "Uh, guys, where's the locker room?"

Danny cracks up and points his finger in a bunch of different directions and I sigh, this was mess-around-with-the-new-girl and I knew it. Mac shrugs and points behind him. I nod resignedly but follow the path Mac is pointing at – I trust him over Danny any day.

~*~*~

Forty-five minutes later, Mac, Danny, and I are entering a cramped apartment on the west side of Manhattan more commonly referred to as Morningside Heights – the college town of NYC. The room looked as unimposing as every other room I would expect to see, with the one exception of the dead body of a girl just a few years younger than myself in the middle of the room as if she was a bizarre art sculpture.

"Victim is Michaela Styres, twenty-two years old," states Don without preamble as he notices us walk in the room. "She's a senior at Columbia University – English Lit major. Her roommate – Vanessa Hollins – found her this morning and called it in. Apart from that I got nothin'."

"You interview the roommate?" Mac asks as he pulls on his latex gloves. I glance over at Danny who is doing the same thing. Sighing I dig in my jacket pocket and withdraw my own set of gloves.

"Yeah," sighs Don. "But she didn't give me much, practically in hysterics over finding the body. Close friends. I got the normal 'she was loved by all' routine. I'm gonna have one of my guys call up the girl's father. He lives in Connecticut apparently. All I know is that Michaela Styres spent last night with her boyfriend at a bar in midtown called The Place."

"That's creative," snorts Danny as he aims his camera at the body and starts taking photos.

"I've been there," I supply shrugging nonchalantly. "It's really retro and modern, good music, and they have the best drinks. I was actually there last night. A friend of mine was hosting a launch party for her new Marc Jacobs line so Tay, Kels, Ryan, and I were having a few drinks and such."

"Oh really?" grins Don. I nod absently as I watch what Danny and Mac do, waiting for my instruction. I glance over to Don and frown slightly, recognizing his tone in voice and knowing that it meant trouble. I see him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a clipping from a newspaper – today's _New York Weekly_ in fact. "So would that explain why there's a collection of photos that have you dancing – or should I say grinding – to the music with a girly drink in hand while chatting up a few guys," asks Don seriously. Danny glances up and heads over to us to glance at the article and accompanying pictures headlined as _NYC Party of the Month_.

"Nice photos, Montez," teases Danny. I shove him as I make my way over to Mac just as my phone vibrates in my pocket, I moan.

**New TXT Message: Troy Bolton  
I thought you didn't party all nite Ella, I'm hurt you didn't invite me 2 come ;)**

"I go out and have fun for _one _night and suddenly everyone's on my case about it huh?" I grumble as I slip my phone back into my pocket and proceed to hold out an evidence bag for Mac.

"What does the boyfriend think?" Don asks as he and Danny proceed to pretend to peruse the article.

"He's not my boyfriend," I counter easily, using my own camera to take a few close-up shots of a pool of blood.

"Really?" Danny asks feigning surprise.

"Really, we've gone out on two dates, that's all." I really, truly do not believe what I am saying but if it gets Danny and Don to lay off my case a bit, I am all for smudging the truth.

"Somehow, I don't think so," Don whispers in my ear. _Damnit_. "You see Brie," he says in a normal tone. "How long have I known you?"

"All my life," I grumble, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. Mac and Danny are obviously listening in curiously – Danny no doubt having Lindsay on the phone listening in. The beat cops who are keeping watch over the crime scene are looking at us with small smiles on their face.

"So," Don says dramatically. "You'd think your best friend since forever would know if you really and I mean _really _like a guy and if you were dating him."

"Yes you would think so," I say sweetly. "But as it is, you apparently don't."

"You're damn right I don't," mutters Don.

"What the hell are you guys talkin' 'bout?" Danny asks looking at the both of us in confusion.

"We're uh… talkin'."

I giggle as Don frowns and rethinks the conversation and realizes that my comment made it into nonsense.

"You don't play fair Brie," whines Don.

"That was totally and completely my intention Donnie," I laugh before heading over to Mac. "So, Mac, whadaya need?"

"Just observe," nods Mac. "Tell me what you see. But remember, we depend on the evidence, nothing else."

"Guess work is left up to me," inputs Don.

I nod in understanding as my eyes rove over the crime scene and I start recounting every detail I pick up to the room.

~*~*~

The next month passes just like that Tuesday. I went to work at nine each morning, got drafted to a crime scene and observed the area, helped to take pictures, and – when the occasion called for it – dumpster dived, the newbie rite of passage as Lindsay refers to it as. It was exhilarating to do something other than sit in front of a computer screen and put words on paper. It was fun, while the mood was somber, there was still humor. I passed the test with full marks and proceeded to pass my first proficiency test with flying colors. Don and Danny continued to rib me about my relationship with Troy – who left to go on an away game streak, unfortunately. I began to spend more time with Taylor and Kelsi and Ryan, just like old times. Going to lunch, chatting over the phone, and the weekend shopping trips were reinstated in a blink of an eye. For the first time in a long time, things were going smoothly in my life and I was happy to be along for the ride. Even though Taylor, Sharpay, Kelsi, and Ryan still had no clue about my new job, my bitter feelings that had once coursed through my veins were gone. Mac, Stella, and the rest of the team were praising my talents as a competent investigator. But the most important thing was that I was finally falling in love. Troy was quickly becoming my Prince Charming and I his proverbial Cinderella.

Unfortunately, my fairytale was about to be in for a rude awakening. The evil stepmother was about to snap her fingers and alter my newfound reality to send me spiraling down with no way of getting back up.

* * *

Please, pretty please review! While I'm not one to post a specified amount on how many reviews I need... fifteen more and then I reach one hundred (keep that in mind while I toil over the next chapter...) 'Till next time... TaTa for Now!


	13. Feels Like High School

**A/N:** OMFG, it's an actual effin' update. Somebody pinch me! Ye-e-eah, see when someone tells you that 'physics is easy' that is codeword for you will never ever be able to have time to write fanfiction... EVER! So, that's my pitiful excuse - like every other author's - of RealLife. Of course, I've also been starting a new story - yeah, yeah, I know... I still need to finish this one, don't remind me. This one's for _Harry Potter_ though, just a collection of drabbles, song-fics, and oneshots. It's kind of a collaboration between me and some of my friends. It won't be posted until the new year and I'm hoping to get it done in a year. By the by, Finding Your Way Back Home will be finished - eventually. The plot's finally picking up and I have an idea for a sequel on the storyboard if you guys would like one. I'm actually quite proud of this story so I would love to finish it and be able to click -completed-.

**Special Thanks To**: _zanessa4evr12_, _,_ _hollygirl1823, Midnight113, 12superstar, unknownbyhim22, BreeLanna, _and _LuckyHumbug_

**Special Welcomes T****o**: _PrincessCherokee01_

**Dedication:** This Is For All of You Readers Who Have Been Waiting Patiently For an Update, Who Review After Every Chapter, Who Just Flat Out Enjoy This Story, Who Have This Story Favorited or Alerted, And To Everyone Else Who Don't Fit Under Those Generalizations. There is some Troy/Gabriella, Don/Gabriella/Danny, Crime Show Stuff, Kelsi/Ryan, Sharpay/Taylor/Gabriella/Kelsi/Ryan/Troy... so there's practically _everything_!

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

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_**Finding Your Way Back Home**_

**Chapter 12**

_Just paint the picture of a perfect place; they got it better than what anyone's told ya. They'll be the king of hearts and you're the queen of spades, then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers. I know we got it good, but they got it made. And the grass is getting greener each day, I know things are looking up but soon they'll take us down… – OneRepublic_

_Before anybody's on our way… All I know, time is a valuable thing; watch it fly by as the pendulum swings; watch it count down to the end of the day. The clock ticks life away… – Linkin Park_

*~*~*

I groan slightly as the lights in the office I share with Hawkes flicker on. My neck is cramped from being pillowed by my arms on my desk and without even glancing in my computer monitor I know that my eyes are puffy with sleep. Rubbing the back of my neck, I yawn and glance up at the intrusion on my impromptu nap. Framed by the doorway is Stella bearing two steaming cups of what I assume is coffee. She mutely hands me one of the mugs and I smile in thanks.

"I find that caffeine is the best thing on the last leg of these triple shifts," Stella says with a grin.

I nod, knowing what she means. "It's only 'cause I'm the newbie, right?" I ask.

"Nah," Stella sits in Hawkes' abandoned office chair. "It's 'cause we love you so much Gabriella. It'll get easier, don't worry. The first few triple shifts are always the hardest to get through."

"You better be right," I say toasting her with my mug of coffee. "How's the case going anyways?"

"You mean while you were off in la la land?" she teases me, pulling a magazine close to her and opening it.

"Yeah, when I was taking five on my couch," I deadpan, running a hand through my curls in an attempt to bring them back to a semblance of normalcy.

"No breaks, we're still waiting for Adam to finish processing some of the evidence and AFIS and CODIS haven't brought anything in yet," Stella breaks off and frowns as she glances at a spread in _US Weekly_. "You were at a movie premiere?"

"Hm?" I ask slightly disoriented, before glancing at what she is reading. "Oh, that… yeah I was, it was the premiere of my best friend Sharpay's movie. You know, _One of the Boys._"

"Yeah, yeah, I went to see that. It was cute," she points to another picture – one of me and Troy on the carpet. "Well, now isn't _that_ cute," she teases me.

"What's cute?" asks someone from behind me and I turn around to find both Danny and Don peering over my shoulder.

"Gabriella and her boyfriend Troy," Stella states, holding up the magazine for emphasis.

Don whistles softly and gives me that patented dimpled grin of his, before switching his playful gaze to one of concernment. "You gettin' enough sleep there Brie?" he asks me and I feel like his baby blues are x-raying me.

"I'm fine," I say a little harshly, making Don flinch a little. "Sorry, I'm runnin' on like two hours of sleep and this is the tail of a triple shift." Both Don and Danny nod. Silence falls over us for a few moments, with only Stella rustling the pages of the magazine and Don stealing a few gulps of my coffee before I choose to break it. "I was supposed to be heading to _Maria's_ tonight," I say with a frustrated groan.

"Hot date?" ribs Danny with a big grin.

"She wishes," snorts Don.

I roll my eyes at the guys' antics. "Actually, it's for Kelsi and Ryan's new Broadway show, _Twinkle Towne,_" I say with a shameless plug towards my friends' accomplishment. "Opening night is tomorrow, so tonight is for the cast to hang out and celebrate. I'm gonna have to bail on them, that's like my seventh lie since Monday and today's only Thursday."

"How many other meet and greets have you cancelled," Don asks in awe – since my book series has debut, there has been a ridiculous amount of press time with talk show hosts and such and Don had always tended to rib me about being so famous, but being as close with him as I am, he knows that cancelling all of these publicity deals is not just uncalled for in my line of work – it can be considered suicidal.

I shoot him a look and primly answer, "Since I've started working here?" I pause in an attempt to count and blow out an annoyed breath. "Truthfully," I say meekly. "I've lost count there's been so many. I had to take the day off to be there for Shar's big red carpet premiere and Troy and I have been reduced to lunch dates or late nights at one of our condos when he's not on the road."

"Welcome to the world of being a cop," says Danny as he waves his hand around in the air. "This is why most of us marry _other_ cops, because they understand the crazy-ass schedule."

"I'm not even a cop," I moan. "And you aren't either Messer," I counter in a fit of realization.

"Hell yes I am, and people still introduce you as Detective Montez, don't they?" he asks me. I nod grudgingly – Danny has a point. He grins and spreads his arms wide, "Don't say you ain't a cop Montez, that's an insult to all of us. Your old man would be tellin' you off right now ya know."

I grin, "Yeah, he's probably turning in his grave as he realizes his little Cinderella is a CSI workin' for the big bad NYPD, not playin' house with a husband and two kids."

Don, Stella, and Danny snort, before Don tosses my balled-up hamburger wrapper at Danny, "Oi, you can't talk. Your frickin' married with a baby girl."

"Not like he and Linds planned that," I quip while Danny proceeds to throw the wrapper my way. I catch it, prepared to toss it his way, before a restraining hand is placed on my wrist.

"Enough of that, children," warns Stella with a twinkle in her green eyes. "Or do I have to separate the three of you?"

"No ma'am," the three of us chime. Stella nods once before shaking her head and removing her grip on my wrist. With a wicked gleam in my eyes I take the wad of paper and lob it at an unsuspecting Don, whose loud stream of profanities escapes when the paper ball lands right on target: in my – now apparently _his_ – coffee cup.

"What the _fuck_ Montez," he growls, groping the air for a napkin to wipe his coffee covered face. I giggle innocently, smile sweetly, and slowly back out of the office. Once I hit the threshold, I turn and bolt, leaving Don's swearing and Danny and Stella's laughter behind. I race down the crime lab's hallways every so often glancing over my shoulder for the imposing figure of Don Flack Jr. like when we were little kids playing tag in one of our homes. Obviously, cleaning up his dripping face is better than chasing me, so I give a little jaunty wave to Lindsay and Adam Ross – a lab tech/CSI in the making – and slip into the lab's locker room. The only thing that makes my day even better is Mac telling me to head home – there won't be any breakthroughs on the case while I am at home taking a nap.

*~*~*

"I'll be there in like ten minutes," I say into my iPhone. On the other side of the line, I can hear a medley of the songs from _Twinkle Towne_ streaming through speakers and there already seems to be a lot of chatter at – I chance a glance at my watch – 7:15 pm.

"_Okay_," says Kelsi dubiously. "_You're not gonna bail like you did on Tuesday._"

"No way," I exclaim. "That was a one-time deal, how many times do I have to apologize for it?" I blow my bangs out of my eyes and plop down on the bench in front of my open locker – swearing silently that I had nothing 'appropriate' to wear to Kelsi and Ryan's big night.

"_That's what you said last time_," Kelsi whines into the phone, "_It's becoming a regular occurrence – plan a night out, and wait for you to cancel on us at the last minute_."

"I know," I sigh. "It's just – I've been swamped these past few weeks, but it's getting better. Still, let's not talk about this now. I'll be at _Maria's_ within the next half-hour, I promise."

"_Alright,_" Kelsi drops the topic at the finality from me, but I can tell this is not the end. "_Just state your name to the hostess, she'll show you to the back room._"

"Kay," I say before we end the call. I stare at my iPhone and wait for the screen to go black before groaning in frustration. Looking down at my current outfit I sigh in distress. While jeans, an oxford shirt, and plain black heels are fine for my work as a CSI – this outfit is definitely not something that I can show up to a party in. I kick my locker door with the improbable thought that if I kick hard enough a party dress and stilettos will magical appear inside my locker. Unfortunately, my locker remains filled with a spare jumpsuit for decomposition crime scenes, an extra crime scene kit, my gun and holster, my black peacoat, and my bath caddy – nothing useful for my current predicament, bar the bath caddy. Letting out a quiet string of swear words, I slide down the front of the locker next to mine and settle on the tiled floor.

"Need this?" a voice above me asks as a duffle with the _Knicks_ symbol swings hypnotically in front of me. I glance up to find Troy inches from my face, an unassuming grin on his good-looking face. Grabbing the sports bag I grin happily to find an old – but never worn – _Zac Posen_ dress and my beloved _Jimmy_ _Choo_ stiletto heels.

"Where –?"

"I had a feeling you'd be needing these," Troy states with a slight shrug. Glancing back up at him, I notice his change in attire. Gone were the blue track pants and beloved high school t-shirt he was wearing the last time I saw him, in their place were black slacks and a white button-up. I have to admit that he looked _good._

"Thanks," I say, truly meaning it before leaning up to give him a quick kiss.

"You taste like coffee and smell like crap," he teases me.

"Work," I say tiredly, laying the dress down on a bench and grabbing my bath caddy. "We're on the trail of this deranged killer who apparently likes to cook his victims for a little bit – Mac thought that it would be a good learning experience for me if I sat for the autopsy." Troy snorts quietly. "Yeah, that was my reaction," I tell him. "By the way, how'd you manage to get into my house?"

"I got your guy Flack to help me," shrugs Troy as he fingers the picture of me and him attached to the inside of my locker door.

"Oh god," I groan. "Don't tell me the two of you are becoming best friends, that'll be the death of me."

"Too bad," quips Troy. "A few beers and talk of both hockey and the threat of castration if I hurt you tend to make to guys quick friends. That Danny Messer is pretty cool too."

"Argh," I complain loudly. "_You_ are impossible." I poke him playfully, thinking that I have not come very far since high school in terms of male company.

"But you love me for it," says Troy.

"Perhaps, but the jury's still out on that one," I tease. Unbuttoning my shirt, I carefully peel it off before balling it up and throwing it at Troy, then I proceed to shimmy out of my jeans and kick them towards my obviously in-shock boyfriend. "Like what you see?" I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes. Troy nods and I snort lightly. "Not nice to drool, superstar," I tell him before grabbing my bath caddy once more, plus a towel and head towards the showers.

Of course… I would never have done _that _in high school.

~*~*~

I am impatiently tapping my foot through the entire drive to _Maria's, _Troy having unsuccessfully tried to calm me down multiple times. The quick cab ride through Manhattan does not do much except make me realize how beautiful my hometown looks – when it is _not _covered in gray mush. Sighing, I pull my purse into my lap and sift around for my purse. Troy lays a hand on my wrists, stilling their movement.

"Calm down would ya?" he tells me, pressing a quick kiss to my head. "We're fine, okay, don't worry so much."

I glare at him until he removes his hand and then huff before snapping my bag shut. "Happy?" I ask with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Very," he states smugly, before settling down in the grimy cab interior before it comes to a screeching halt in front of a glass and wood building with an awning proclaiming _Maria's_ in scrolling script.

"That'll be thirty-five bucks," states the cabbie with a Brooklyn twang. Troy slaps two twenties into the guy's hand with the statement "Keep the change," before opening his side door and running around to open my door and helping me out.

"Thank-you good sir," I tell him cheekily.

"You're very welcome m'lady," he states with a slight bow. He draws me close to his side as we head into the restaurant.

"Table for two?" the matron asks with a slightly forced smile.

"Actually we're with the _Twinkle Towne_ party," I interject. "Gabriella Montez plus one," I tell her.

The girl looks at me for a second and then nods and places the menus down before gesturing for us to follow her down a dark hallway. "Right in there Ms. Montez," she says before disappearing. The party is in full swing when Troy pushes open the heavy oak door, but instead of entering, we stand hesitatingly in the doorway

I grin encouragingly at him, "Sure you're not scared of a little party Bolton," I say.

"Never," laughs Troy, "I was just wondering if you were scared." I playfully punch him and shake my head.

As he opens his mouth to retaliate, a smug voice close to my ear exclaims, "Oh, hey Gabriella! I didn't know this was the reason you were late."

I turn around and grin widely, "Hey! Long time no see."

Taylor rolls her hazel eyes at me, "It's as much my fault as it is yours, but enough of that. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friend here?" She points somewhere behind me.

I look over my shoulder and find Troy unsuccessfully attempt to inch away from me and Taylor. This time, I roll my eyes. Grabbing Troy's left hand, I yank him over, "Taylor this Troy, Troy this is Taylor."

Troy extends his free hand and Taylor shakes it. "Nice to finally be introduced," Taylor says. "I was beginning to think Gabi was hiding you from us."

"Me?" Troy asks with feint shock, "Never. It's nice to meet you as well, though, Taylor."

"Come over to the back," Taylor tells the both of us. "That's where the real party is."

As she starts to head back, I give Troy another grin before dragging him along through the throng of party-goers stopping every once and awhile to exchange hellos and 'what-have-you-been-up-to' with faces I know. We also were forced to stop as every guy (and some girls too) quickly realized that Troy is _the_ Troy Bolton. Waiters were walking around the floor holding up trays of hors d'oeuervs and flutes of champagne, so by the time Troy and I had made it to the table tucked in the back that Taylor had pointed out to us, we were slightly buzzed and a good hour and a half had passed by. Taylor was at the table but so were three other people I had grown up with – Kelsi, Ryan, and Sharpay.

"Hey Brie," Sharpay greets me. "Is this your elusive boyfriend," she asks as she gets up from her seat and extends a hand. "Sharpay Evans."

Troy nods politely, "Troy Bolton, nice to meet you."

"_Enchanté,_" Sharpay states coyly. I roll my eyes and introduce Troy to everyone else.

"Kelsi, Ryan this it Troy. Troy," I say. "Meet Ryan and Kelsi – the masterminds behind _Twinkle Towne._"

"Good to meet you," Troy nods.

"Likewise," grins Ryan getting up to clap Troy on the back and give me a hug. "Stop being such a stranger Gabi," he tells me. "Kels has bemoaned to me the number of times you've had to cancel on her due to work."

I glance over at my best friend who is blushing furiously. Sighing, I reply, "It's those deadlines Ry. You know I can't escape them, their killer on my life."

"No pun intended," winks Troy, while Sharpay, Taylor, and Kelsi all groan openly.

"That line was old three years ago Brie," grumbles Taylor good-naturedly. "But really, you'd think Josh would want you out of your condo and on the streets promoting."

"You'd think," I tell her settling down on a satin-covered chair. _Nice touch_, I think to myself, before forging on. "But, Josh has been wrapped up with this up-and-coming author. She's pretty good, but her material is a little too heavy in my opinion. Still well-written though."

"Good to know," says Sharpay with the unmistakable 'who cares' attitude. I shoot a glare at her but she just waves her hand in a circle, "Wouldn't the rest of you be interested in a little tidbit of information from yours truly?"

"Depends," says Ryan. "Will I be regretting my choice to live?"

"No dear brother," Sharpay says dramatically. "Rather you will be graced with a new 'bout of ideas."

"I highly doubt that, but proceed."

Sharpay glares at her brother but plasters on a smile. "So, my manager has just called me and told me that there's a new project that he wants me to audition for. The darling says that it'll be a great stepping stone in my career, something totally different than what I have usually portrayed. I'm not supposed to say what it's about but…" Sharpay pauses here and glances at us, building up the 'suspense' in only a way Sharpay can manage. "It's supposed to be like one of those crime shows on television. Apparently, if all goes well, _I _could very well be headlining my very own show."

I choke on my bubbly margarita. Troy pats my back slightly, as I come up sputtering. "You're gonna be starring on a show that will be competing with the likes of _NCIS, Bones, _and _Criminal_ _Minds_?" I ask incredulously.

"Mhm," exclaims Sharpay. "Isn't that great?"

I nod weakly and wipe my mouth with a napkin on the table. "It's just that, you don't seem like you'd like to hang around a morgue or nasty crime scene or even running to chase down a perp in an alleyway."

"Please," Sharpay scoffs. "I won't actually do those things. Do you think I'm moronic? I'm just acting Brie. You can't honestly say that I would sign up for that kind of work."

I nod in agreement, internally seething. "Of course not Shar," I say sweetly. "What in the hell was I thinking?" I say with a laugh (albeit a slightly forced one).

"You okay?" Troy whispers in my ear an hour later, when there is finally a lull in the conversation.

"Yeah," I say reassuringly. "I'm fine."

"But Sharpay…"

I place a hand on Troy's chest. "Sharpay is being Sharpay. It's not like I told her the job that I've been working. They're all blissfully ignorant. Just let it be Troy," I plead quietly. "It's just who they are."

"Okay," says Troy dubiously. I give him a quick kiss to show my gratefulness.

"Alright you two break it up," Taylor teases, pulling on my dress slightly. "Ry and Kels are just about to say a quick speech." I nod to Taylor to show that I understood and glance towards the center of the room where Ryan has an arm around Kelsi's waist, while Kelsi proceeds to lightly tap the top of the microphone in her hands.

"Hey guys," Kelsi says after the room has grown silent. "Ryan and I just wanted to congratulate you guys on all the hard work you've put into this show… I have no doubt that the show will be amazing – and it's all because of your dedication. I know –"

Kelsi is suddenly cut off by the ringing of a cell phone. Everyone glances around, before I realize that the sound is coming from _my_ jacket pocket and I swear under my breath. Glancing at the screen I see one word flash back at me: MAC.

"Damn it," I groan, flashing the screen at Troy whose blue eyes widen considerably. Pressing reject, I quickly put my phone on vibrate and look up, "I'm so sorry Kelsi."

"It's fine Gabi," she tells me, her cheeks stained a rosy hue. I give her an apologetic smile before glancing back at the mechanical abomination that is vibrating again. Knowing Mac, he will call me repeatedly until I pick up or he will stop and then send Don and Danny on a 'Gabriella Hunt'. I press reject one last time and then run out of the room stealthily, slinking almost unnoticed out of the room. Making it out to the waiting area of the upscale restaurant, I finally accept Mac's call.

"Montez," I greet into the phone – my customary work greeting.

"_Hey Gabriella_," Mac says."_I've been trying to reach you_."

"I know I'm so sorry," I respond, pacing up and down the plush runner. "What's up? Is there a break in the case?"

"_You could say that_," Mac says wearily. "_We've caught a break, but it isn't the type of break that I'd would've liked._"

"What happened?" I ask although I have pretty good feeling.

"_The bastard struck again_."

I gasp, memories of the previous crime scene flooding my brain. Unconsciously, I shudder in horror. "Oh god," I groan.

"_It's as bad as the first_," Mac grimly warns me. "_Danny's on his way to your place to pick you up. Don will meet you at the scene_."

"Okay," I say, soaking up the information until I hit the part where Danny's on his way to my place. Oh shit. "Uh Mac," I say hesitatingly.

"_Yeah_?"

"I'm not at home," I remark in a small voice.

There is a beat and then, "_Where are you?_"

"At _Maria's_," I squeak.

"_So you've still not gone home?_"

"Nope," I say popping the 'p' sound.

"_Okay_," he says warily. "_I'll reroute Danny, then. Listen, Gabriella," Mac starts. "I sent you home thinking that you'd go home take a nap, take a shower, eat something, and just relax_."

"I know, I know," I fret into the phone. "But there was a big party for two of my close friends that I just couldn't miss." I sigh, thinking that this was just when I was in high school trying to explain why I was way past curfew to my mom.

"_I'd send someone else, but I just can't loan anyone else out."_

"And I don't expect you to, Mac. It's my fault, my bad judgment." My pacing stills and I place my free hand on my hip.

"_Alright then, good to know. Danny should be there within the next five minutes. He has a spare kit. Do you have your piece?_" he asks.

"Yes Dad," I snort. "It's in my purse."

"_Just checking_," Mac says. "_The scene's not in the best place, I don't want anyone to go unarmed_."

"Okay," I say. "Talk to you later."

"_Bye_," he says before we disconnect.

I groan, collapsing into one of the chairs by the door and put my head in my hands.

"Work?" a voice asks above me. Looking up I see Troy standing above me, much like those hours previous, only this time he is holding my purse and coat.

"Yeah," I say slightly disgruntled. "Where in the hell am I supposed to put my gun?" I ask aloud.

Troy snorts, "Say that a little louder why don't 'cha."

I giggle a little, pressing a kiss to his chin and slipping on my coat at the same time, "I'm sorry our night is ruined."

"No problem," Troy assures me.

I glance back at the party room, "And now I won't be able to even say good-bye."

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure they'll understand."

I glance up and shake my head. "That's where you're mistaken Mister Bolton, I highly doubt that they'll understand." The two of us step out of the restaurant and into the chilly February night. "Valentine's Day is this coming Saturday. I'm off."

Troy looks down with a twinkle in his eyes. "I have a mid-afternoon game," he says. "But afterwards, I'm all game to spend a little time with my girlfriend."

"Good," I tell him as Danny's navy blue _Avalanche_ pulls to a stop. "I'll call you, 'kay?"

Troy nods, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "Be safe," he whispers. "_Please_ be careful Ella."

"I will," I assure him, pulling back and slinging my purse over my shoulder. "I'm always careful."

As I'm opening the door to the _Avalanche, _I hear Troy call out, "I wouldn't be able to stand it if you got hurt." I just blow him a kiss and wave bye, before shutting the door with a snap and turning to partner-in-crime-solving tonight: Danny Messer.

"What in the hell are you wearing Montez?" he asks me.

"Hello to you too Messer," I say, fastening my seatbelt. "Aren't you gonna drive away?"

"When you answer my question of what are you _wearing_?"

"Why?" I ask. "You like it? Does it turn you on?" I tease him.

"Oh don't play that card," he mutters starting the engine and driving away. "I'm just wondering if you're gonna be able to process a scene in that skimpy piece of fabric and those heels."

"Oh don't worry," I tell him. "I'm a girl – I've been trained in the art of looking fabulous while doing the dirty jobs." Danny just snorts. _Men._

_

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_Review Please!_

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	14. Breaking News

**A/N:** I won't lie.... This chapter has been sitting in my documents folder since the beginning of February and it is now the end of March. You may hurt me. I give you permission. The truth of the matter: I wanted to finish the story before I updated this chapter because after this one ---- well I wouldn't want somebody to leave _me _hanging, so I didn't think that you guys would appreciate that either. Which is another thing, _Finding Our Way Back Home_ is almost finished -tear- and I finally made it to one hundred reviews :D I was _so _happy to see that, I appreciate every single one of you who review and for those who do it every single chapter, WELL you get a special place in my heart.

**SHAMELESS PLUG:** I dunno if you guys realized or not but around Christmastime I posted a sort of 'companion' piece to Finding Your Way Back Home. I'd love it if you guys would go and check it out! It's called _A Promise Kept_ and you can find the story on my profile page.

**BTW:** I'm looking for a BETA. I dunno how you go about acquiring one, but if you do could you PM me and let me know? If there are like BETAs for specific fandoms I'm looking for somebody with a background in Harry Potter. Thanks!

**Dictionary: **For you non-crime show people... MO means Modus Operandi and is basically they way that a serial killer kills his/her victims; GC/MS means Gas chromatography-mass spectrometry which is a big word for a big machine that analyzes certain substances to give you the chemical composition.

**Special Thanks To**: _coolio1206, zanessa4evr12, TohruSeraphina, PrincessCherokee01, hollygirl1823, unknownbyhim22, Keish, 12superstar, Midnight113, bookluver127, HsmCrazyGirl, isarodas10, psj, _and _elliec92_

**Special Welcomes T****o**: _bookluver127, kaos2405, psj, xxdoggygirlxx, _and _ZanessaLover1618_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

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_**Finding Your Way Back Home**_

**Chapter 13**

_She wanted a ride to the Upper East Side but it dropped her ass off in Queens – Kevin Rudolf_

_And if I was running, you'd be the one who I would be running to  
And if I was crying, you would be lining the cloud that would pull me through  
And if I was scared, then I would be glad to tell you and walk away  
But I am not lying, I am just trying to find my way in to you_

_- SafetySuit_

~*~*~

"And so here we are, day eighteen on the alien planet," I joke, my voice devoid of emotion like those on scientific documentaries. Next to me, Lindsay snorts before typing away on the computer. I, meanwhile, lean over the lighted layout table and carefully piece together a slip of paper that has been shredded into little strips.

"Just wait," Lindsay tells me. "If this guy keeps evading capture, Mac is gonna go full out – it's a scary thing when boss man is driven beyond imaginable."

"Good to know," I call out, holding back a yawn. The glass windows and walls – good to spy on your coworkers – now show a coming to life New York City. The sun is just starting to flow through the gridlocked city, almost peaking over the tall skyscrapers that call this island home. Cars are not quite packing the streets and storefronts have not quite open up the grilles yet. The clock that hangs on the wall, teases my mind – telling me that it has been a little over six hours since I have left Kelsi and Ryan's commemorating dinner and sifted through one of the dirtiest crime scenes that I have been to in my one and a half month stint. Funny – at least in my opinion – how I was still wearing my dress and heels from the party. My remark to Danny had been right – I hadn't got a speck of dirt on me – but I could not hide the fact that my feet were killing me.

"Argh," groans Lindsay fifteen minutes later. "I can't look at this computer screen anymore! I swear to God, I'm going cross-eyed." I glance over at my friend who was trying to digitally separate a small pile of fingerprints on top of one another. A tedious job that I would not wish on anybody and yet –

"I'll trade you," I tell her, grinning slightly. "My back is killing me after bending over this table for so long." Lindsay looks up and almost looks like she is considering before shaking her head and focusing back on the computer screen, the arrow of the mouse clicking on various points of comparison.

"That's why there are these comfy chairs," a voice calls out. I jump slightly when Adam Ross glides into the layout room Lindsay and I are currently situated in, on a rolling office chair.

"Where'd you get that," I ask demandingly.

The geeky lab rat just laughs as he rolls over to the GC/MS. "Oh you know here and there – maybe an office, maybe even your office."

"You wouldn't," I threaten playfully. Adam just shrugs and proceeds to analyze some kind of foreign trace. Adam has this mop of curly auburn hair and is probably around Danny's height but lacks his muscle or even Don's lanky frame. Lindsay and I tease that he's a lab rat who would never be able to give up his computer and video games. Don, Danny, and I tease him about the winter weather – considering the fact that we're NYC natives and Adam hails from Arizona. But of course, all of this is in good fun, I think of Adam like a loveable little brother.

"Anyways," Adam says. "You willing to play a friendly little game of _Guitar Hero_ with me after shift? I'm gonna see if I can get a whole group to play in the A/V lab on that big screen."

"I'm all game," I tell him a shrug. "That is if this shift ever ends."

"We'll catch him," Lindsay says with determination."We always catch the bad guy."

"Bad guy?" I ask her, slightly amused.

"Yes, bad guy. I'm in mommy mode."

I snort, "When are you out of mommy mode?"

"When she's in bed with me," Danny announces teasingly as he steps into the layout room, a box of evidence in his arms. "You know how it is Montez."

"I wish I didn't Messer," I grumble, watching him dump the contents of the white evidence box out on the table, my eyes widening at the large pile. "We have to analyze all of that?" I ask weakly.

"What's this we?" Danny asks innocently. "No one said anythin' about me helpin' ya out."

I glare threateningly at the Staten Island native, "If you think you're gonna just be able to throw this off on me…"

"You're gonna what Montez?" Danny prods playfully.

"I wouldn't try to push her buttons right now," I hear Don call out over my shoulder. Turning around quickly, I see my childhood best friend walk into the layout room. His suit jacket is gone, the paisley tie he was wearing earlier loosened, and his dress-shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face though, looks as tired as the rest of us.

"Why not?" Danny asks, obviously enjoying watching me seethe.

"'Cause she hasn't had any sleep in three days," says Don smugly.

"You're point man? Neither have the rest of us," Danny counters as he crosses his arms defensively in front of his chest. Lindsay has now turned around from the computer to watch the exchange; Adam is peering over the hulking GC/MS machine, enjoying the show; I just roll my eyes and go back to piecing together the shredded piece of paper.

"Yeah, but I – unlike you – have had the honor of seeing what happens to dear Gabriella Montez's happy disposition when she hasn't a good sleep in a while," I can hear the smirk in Don's voice and pray quickly that he isn't about to go off on a tell-all childhood story. Luckily, I'm saved by the proverbial bell.

"I got it!" Adam yells out excitedly. He jumps up from his seat and waves a sheet of paper in the air. "I got it! GC/MS has finally given us the results," he shouts gleefully.

After a beat, we all look up at him expectantly. "So what is it?" Danny asks impatiently.

"That mystery white substance on our second vic's arm wasn't coke, but flour mixed with talcum powder," he states proudly.

"So what?" Don asks the room at large. "He was baking and then had a diaper rash?"

"Well," Lindsay says contemplatively. "That's actually quite possible. But talcum powder is also used as chalk in sports and in pharmaceutical products. This could be a major break or could mean nothing. Our best bet is finding something that connects the two vics together."

Adam seems to deflate slightly at the response his find has received, but immediately jumps up and heads to the GC/MS again. I roll my eyes and glance back at Don. "What's up on your end of the case, Detective?" I ask him teasingly.

He shrugs and leans against the layout table before I smack his hands away. "Evidence," I warn him. "You wanna lean on the table, you wear gloves."

Don springs back and holds up his hands in an 'I-surrender' manner. "Sorry Brie. No go on my end though," he tells the room at large. "I ran a background check on our vic and even had one of my guys run through his history to see what he had in common with our other victim but nothing came up." Don tapped a crime scene photo, "This guy's as random as the previous vic, different socioeconomic backgrounds; one had a girlfriend, the other was single; one was Hispanic, the other Asian; one had a rap sheet, the other was clean as a whistle. The differences go on and on."

"Well there's gotta be something here connecting the victims besides MO," Lindsay states diplomatically. Getting up from her chair, the rest of us watch as Lindsay grabs a dry-erase maker and starts writing out what we know about our two victims. In her neat cursive she starts out with Toby Thuy as one column and Mario Ruiz as another before turning to the rest of us.

"A list?" I ask skeptically, holding back a yawn.

"It helps to lay out all the facts," Lindsay shrugs, holding out the marker for one of us to take. Danny makes a grab for it first.

"So we know that Thuy lived in Chelsea and Ruiz hailed from Harlem," Danny says writing those districts underneath their respective titles. "But Thuy's body was dumped in Central Park and Ruiz was found in a dump in Five Points."

"Yeah, but according to Sid's findings Ruiz died first," I point out consulting the preliminary autopsy report. Danny nods as he makes note of that on our makeshift list.

"Makes sense," Don says as he fiddles with his pen. "He smelled like shit."

"Really?" I mock-gasp, "I thought that was just the smell of crap that emanates from that place."

Don shoves me lightly. "Don't kid Montez. Anyways, put down that Ruiz has been in and out of foster homes since he was twelve Dan-O."

Danny nods as he scrawls down a few more points that Lindsay points out. It continues like this for awhile, the four of us bouncing around ideas regarding our two victims and the thin – but possible – connections they might share. It actually consumes our attention so much that three hours pass since we first began and we are no closer to catching the killer than we were three days ago. Danny slams his fist in frustration as we hit another dead end with the prints he and I pulled off of Mario Ruiz's wallet. I watch as Lindsay lays a comforting hand on Danny's arm and Don runs a hand over his tired face. One glass wall of the layout room is covered in Danny's messy scrawl, Lindsay's neat cursive, Don's cramped writing, and my tiny printing; arrows connect some points with others and underlines emphasize statements when Mac and Stella find us on the brink of unconsciousness.

"You guys have been having some major brainstorming without us," Stella jokes as she looks at the wall in awe and then to the four of us.

Mac just gives us a grim smile and says, "I hope you four used a dry-erase marker." Danny waves the _Expo_ in the air before tossing it to Mac. "Find anything?" the boss man asks tentatively. The four of us ruefully shake our heads.

"We dissected both of their lives to the point of finding what their great-aunt's brother-in-law's niece's nephew's son ate for breakfast and came up with nothin'," Don slurs slightly due to lack of sleep.

"Well keep looking," Mac tells us. When Don opens his mouth to retaliate with what I assume is a smart-ass remark, Mac just holds up a hand. "Lindsay, I want you and Gabriella to go over the physical evidence again. Danny, I want you on the cell phones tracking both of the victims' last movements through the GPS. Adam has already told me about his earlier findings with the talcum/flour mix but he just reported that the red stains on Mario Ruiz's clothes came back to be red food dye and that the funny paste on Toby Thuy's chest was caviar in a tube." Don, Danny, and I snort a quick laugh at that last comment, before Mac gives us a quick glare. "I want this case closed before another body lands on my doorstep," the boss states angrily before stalking out of layout. Don, Danny, Lindsay, Stella, and I all exchange worried glances before scattering to go about our own duties.

~*~*~

A good four hours pass by the time Lindsay and I rip off our sweaty latex gloves and collapse in the rolling office chairs around the layout table. I roll my shoulders a few times to undo a knot and listen partly to Lindsay rattle off a few random trivia facts – a nervous habit of hers. I shake my head ruefully as I chance another glance at the analog clock on the wall; the big hand points to number two, while the little hand is in-between the six and seven. Bar a two hour nap I had twenty hours ago, I had been up for more than eighty hours and I could feel my body protest the sleep deprivation.

"You guys look dead to the world," Hawkes comments as he walks in and surveys the layout table. Lindsay and I just glare at the good doctor in hopes that he has the common sense to leave us alone – he doesn't. "What have you two been up to? Haven't we already processed all that evidence?"

"You think I don't know that Hawkes?" I ask bitingly, swiping a granola bar from atop some analyzing machine. "Mac told us to look over everything _again_; he seems to believe we missed something. But enough about us, what have you been up to?"

"I just got back actually," Hawkes shifts his weight from one foot to the next. "Mac sent me home at midnight and told me to come back 'round now."

"Oh really?" Lindsay asks. I snort knowing that her comment will be _good._ "You got to go home Hawkes? Take a shower, sleep a little, have a decent meal that doesn't include coffee, while the rest of us are here in the lab analyzing and re-analyzing evidence and facts and whatnot? _Really_? I haven't seen my daughter in four days Hawkes, count 'em _four_!"

In the back of my mind I feel a bit sorry for my coworker, but right now I am too tired and bitchy to care, which is why I do nothing to apologize for my or Lindsay's behavior when Stella walks in.

"Wow," Stella murmurs as she witnesses the mental breakdown in front of her. "Someone's about to crack." Lindsay and I both nod wearily as Stella turns to us. "While I'd like to dismiss the both of you, I have something to discuss with you, Gabriella." I groan while Lindsay perks up for the first time in days.

"You mean I can go home?" the Montana native practically squeaks with joy.

"For a few hours," Stella concedes. "You are no help to us if you cannot see straight. Anyways, I'm sure Danny's mom wants a few hours to herself and your beautiful daughter wants some quality mommy time." Lindsay just smiles widely before unbuttoning her white lab coat and bounding off to the locker room.

I, meanwhile, look at Stella pitifully. "I have to stay here?" I bemoan, "Is this punishment for not going home when Mac actually sent me home?"

"Not at all kiddo," Stella assures me. "What you do in your off time is completely up to you, we're not your parents, we can't tell you what to do. No, there's just something I want you to see before you leave."

I hesitate before following her, "Whatever prank you found, I swear to God I was not a part of it." Stella just looks back questioningly, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. "_Oh_, this is about something else?" Hawkes snorts quietly behind me and I shove him lightly before walking out of layout and into Stella's office.

Gesturing to the seats in front of her, Stella opts to lean against her glass desk while I perch on one of the leather chairs. "First off," Stella starts. "I just want to say how proud I am with how you're dealing with this case. Most first-timers would have passed out from the lack of sleep or run away with their tails between their legs with how Mac would treat them."

"I don't scare that easily Stell," I joke tiredly. "I've dealt with socialites and publishers, a Marine is no problem."

Stella laughs softly before picking up a glossy magazine, her expression turning somber. "I thought you might like to see this, considering how much is about you."

I frown slightly and take the book from her hands and gasp at the cover – a picture of me wearing my _CSI: NY_ windbreaker talking to Don and Mac at a crime scene, with the caption _Road Less Traveled for Ms. Montez?_ "When did you get this?" I ask hoarsely.

"Just a few minutes ago, I was getting lunch down at one of the venders and just happened to stop at the magazine rack down there and this kinda caught my eye."

I groan at the full page spread of pictures of me at a few crime scenes and entering and exiting both the precinct and the crime lab. "How could they get this?" I ask.

"I dunno kiddo, but I think Don is dragging in the journalist right now to ask her where she got the info, he seemed pretty pissed."

I snort and push back a lock of hair. "Donnie always said he wanted to get his hands on the gossip writers who stretched the truth about me a little bit too far. Ironic how they got this article spot on, but he's dragging them in this time."

"He's just looking out for you," smiles Stella. "When I found the mag, Don was with me about to pick up some good coffee for you; he kind of got sidetracked when he read this though."

"Yeah, he does that a lot." At Stella's questioning glance I elaborate some. "Ever since I was a little girl, Don has taken it upon himself to look after me, especially after my dad died. He does a really good job and I'm really grateful for him, but most of the time I pretend that it's just a pain in the ass."

Stella laughs again, "I think that's just the way it goes kiddo, but anyways you should head home now, I'm sure your friends will be wanting the scoop on this breaking news."

"Most definitely," I tell Stella before getting up and waving goodbye. "Most definitely."

* * *

**Chapters Left: 3**

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	15. You Fall Hard

**A/N:** I meant to look over this one last time before posting, but my little fangirl heart is currently in the emergency room due to last night's epically heartcrushing _Bones _episode. This chapter is short like the previous one, but I hope you all love it just the same

**BTW:** This was written before Hart Hanson broke me into little tiny pieces... BUT **_unknownbyhim22 _**please look for my little *wink* towards a comment you left a couple chapters ago. I hope you appreciate it.

**Special Thanks To**: _hollygirl1823, Midnight113, 12superstar, unknownbyhim22, PrincessCherokee01, coconut shell, _and _ilovebeinme07_

**Special Welcomes T****o**: _Naley-Troyella freak_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

* * *

_**Finding Your Way Back Home**_

**Chapter 14**

_I've put my trust in you  
Pushed as far as I can go  
And for all this  
There's only one thing you should know_

_I tried so hard and got so far  
But in the end it doesn't even matter  
I had to fall to lose it all  
But in the end it doesn't even matter  
- Linkin Park_

_Sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you failed. Did it need to end that way? Could something have been done to prevent the tragedy in the first place? Like I said, sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes, the day just... ends – Aaron Hotchner, Criminal Minds_

~*~*~

Instead of heeding Stella's instructions to go home, I find myself walking down Broadway and into the 74th precinct, home to the wonderfully over-protective Don Flack. Unlike the NYPD's crime lab where the setting is all glass and chrome and fancy machines and state of the art technology, the bullpen for some of New York's finest is like something out of that old show _Third Watch_ with the grimy desks and scuffed linoleum, the ever present smell of sweat and smoke, and the crappy cop coffee. Sitting at a desk in the middle of all the commotion is Don. He looks worn out like the rest of the crime lab staff but glaringly different then his well-rested colleagues and I instantly feel bad for bemoaning my lack of sleep in the face of my oldest best friend. Nodding to a few of the detectives I know I make my way over to Don's desk and perch on the edge of it.

"Hey Junior," I greet. "What's up?"

Don glances up and flashes me a quick smile. "Just tired, but you know how it is Brie."

I nod to show my understanding as I run a comforting hand down Don's arm. "Stella told me about the article," I told Don sadly. "I knew it was only a matter of time before everyone found out. It was fun while it lasted, but I'm sure the Commissioner doesn't want someone like me working for the NYPD anymore since I've managed to rise up a media circus."

"Aw, don't be like that Brie," Don counters. "You've proved your worth to the lab; Sinclair would be an idiot to fire you."

I smile sadly, but shake my head. "I don't think that's how it works Don. But anyways, Stella said you were gonna bring in the witch who wrote the article."

"Oh yeah, Dan-O's in Interrogation one staring her down," he grins wolfishly and I know immediately that he's enjoying this just a bit too much.

"You guys have no real right to hold her you know," I playfully reprimand.

"Ya sure Montez?" Don counters. "I got her on obstruction of justice."

"How?" I ask in disbelief.

"The photos," he says in an obvious tone of voice. "Those are part of a criminal investigation since there's a db and stuff in the picture."

I roll my eyes, "Did she ask for a lawyer?"

"Nah, she knows the charges aren't for real, cops just do this sometimes, take a reporter put 'em in a room and pressure 'em to tell who their source is. Sometimes they cave and sometimes their damn smart and ask for a lawyer."

"So you're saying that this one's dumb 'cause she refused legal counsel?"

"Nah, I'm just saying that she's an old pro who's gonna use this opportunity to make a deal for exclusive information when a scandal breaks in regards to spilling the beans on her source."

"Ah, there's such a big difference," I say playfully as Don winks and stands up.

"You wanna watch from behind the glass while I crack Miss Diane Anderson?"

"Is the Pope catholic?" I counter sarcastically as I follow the blue-eyed detective into the observation room.

"A simple yes would do wonders Brie," Don tells me with a smile before he enters the interrogation room leaving me to be a silent observer from behind the glass. It reminds me of a conversation with Troy in the early morning hours when we are to keyed up to sleep and somehow make our way through my collection of crime shows.

"_So how does it feel to be behind that cool glass watching your partner interrogate a suspect?" Troy asked with a slight grin before stealing a handful of my popcorn._

_Rolling my eyes at my boyfriend's antics I shrugged noncommittally, "There's no big feeling to label 'Hey guess what I'm behind the window that you think is a mirror'. Most people know it's a two-way window anyways." I nod to the TV where Booth is currently staring down some random suspect before the clip cuts to Brennan on the other side of the mirror talking to Sweets. "Television, crime shows specifically, have completely destroyed that pretence. A random civilian such as you knows that there are people behind the mirrors, heck even a six-year old kid probably knows there are people behind mirrors like that."_

"_Thanks for comparing my intelligence to that of a six-year-old," Troy said dryly. _

_Giggling, I ran my fingers through his chestnut-hued hair. "Sorry babe," I cooed. "Didn't mean to dent that precious male ego of yours."_

_Troy just rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the episode of _Bones _we were watching. "I love you," he whispered taking hold of my hand._

"_Love you too," I said burrowing farther into his embrace._

A soft smile plays on my lips as I remember that perfect Saturday night two weeks ago. I had been so engrossed in my memory, though, that I had missed the beginning of Don and Danny's mock-interrogation of our 'suspect'. I roll my eyes at their childish antics, even if this is important to me too. I would never reveal this to anyone but myself but it bothered me that someone who I put my trust in had spilled to the media a MOAS – a mother of all secrets. Returning my attention back to the 'drama' enfolding in front of me I shake my head at Danny's intimidation tactics.

"Seriously," the Staten Island exclaims as he paces back and forth. "It's one measly name Miss Anderson and it would be in your best interest to assist us."

The blonde journalist just looks up at Danny with a bored expression. Her perfectly manicured nails seem to be tapping a beat on the metal table and her hazel eyes are appraising Don who is sitting in front of her.

"I do not see how I should be assisting the New York police department Detectives," she says coyly. "I deal with celebrities like Bragelina and Victoria Beckham and even that up-and-comer Sharpay Evans, certainly my area of interests haven't been dabbling in murder, gentlemen."

"Guess again Miss Anderson," Don states coolly.

"Diane, please," the journalist says with a sweet smile.

"Miss Anderson," Don says with an edge and she rolls her eyes. "That's where you're wrong. You see one of your area of interests as you like to call 'em have been dabbling in murder." This time I roll my eyes, my best friend is making it sound like I fancy myself a killer. "Gabriella Montez, ring a bell?"

"Oh, the writer dating Troy Bolton, and moves in the same circle as Sharpay Evans, Kelsi Nielson, and Taylor McKessie?" she asks as if she can't remember the details. I fume silently from behind the glass mirror.

"Yeah," says Danny with an air of impatience. "That Gabriella Montez. Who told you that scoop? 'Cause you sure as hell weren't privy to that information."

"My sources only give me information because of my discretion of their identities, gentlemen. It would be in bad faith if I were to tell _you_ who told _me_ about little Miss Montez."

"Well I don't give a crap about discretion," Don spats. "You are sticking your nose into the business of an NYPD detective."

"The people deserve to know the truth," she states simply before primly folding her hands in front of her.

"Yeah well have you ever thought that little Miss Montez could sue you for invading her personal space? Or for the fact that she has told you to leave her alone, but you repetitively have disregarded the fact."

I snort, Don's lying majorly there, but if it gets the job done I'm not opposed to the technique.

Miss Anderson's eyes narrow only just, as if she can't believe what Don is saying is possible, but she is slightly scared to test out the possibility.

"I just want the name," Don says calmly. "Whoever your source is won't know that you told us, I swear."

I watch as the journalist contemplates Don's words and I just sigh knowing it will be a little while before she cracks. Walking to the corner of the room, I attempt to wake myself up with more coffee. After the first sip though I almost choke to death – the thing is like sludge – gritting my teeth, I take another sip and will the caffeine to do its magic and wake me up. Meanwhile, Anderson picks up Don's pen and scrawls something down on Don's notepad. Since the tall detective's back is to me I can't see his reaction, but Anderson has a smug look on her heavily made-up face. Slowly, Don turns in his chair and gets up to walk to the window/mirror that separates us. He doesn't speak, just holds up the pad of paper with two words on it: _Troy Bolton_. I feel the coffee cup slip out of my fingers and fall to the ground while I stand frozen in hurt and horror. This could not be happening to me. No way in hell was one of the few good things that ever happened to me going to fall through the cracks. I don't see Don and Danny's sympathetic but pissed expressions as I race out of the observation room, tears streaming down my face.

Blindly, I make my way out into the bullpen and through the front doors before heading south, stopping only when my feet are killing me and I realize that I am nowhere near the 74th precinct, but rather just blocks from Madison Square Garden… the home of NYC's basketball team. Sniffling pathetically, I press on not hearing the calls from Don and Danny who had obviously chased me this whole way. Rubbing a fist at one of my eyes I approach the gym through a back door and nod to one of the security guards who Troy has introduce me too, swearing under my breath when my Sig sets off the metal detector. Marty just waves me in when he sees the glimpse of the badge and I attempt to give a smile of thanks – I am sure it passes as a grimace. Taking a deep breath I steel my nerves before walking right onto the floor of the gym where Troy is currently leading a few of his teammates in a quick game of scrimmage. Just days ago I would have been sitting on the sidelines playfully acting like a high school cheerleader, but today I am playing the part of the hurt heroine who confronts her one true love. I shake out the similarities between this scene and that of the old movie _A Cinderella Story_ as it just draws up another memory of Troy where I trusted him enough to spill precious secrets. A few more tears leak out of the corner of my eyes as I realize how much I had come to depend upon Troy in these past six weeks. It only took me six weeks to fall completely head-over-heels in love with some guy; it took only six weeks for me to truly believe in fairy tales again. But once again, I was proved wrong. I could hear the buzzer signaling the end of the game in my head. I didn't want to admit it, but Troy's betrayal hurt the most; he had helped me reach one of the few high peaks in my life just to bring me crumbling down. And that is how I mustered enough strength to walk out onto the hardwood floor and call out, "_Bolton_"; how I was able to withstand Troy's teammates teasing remarks and stand tall even though tears were streaming down my face and I must look a fright and I was just _so _tired.

The traitor approaches with worry lines etched onto his face. He tosses the bright orange basketball over his shoulder with not even a glance back. He keeps his eyes trained on me. Those bright blue eyes that normally make me feel so safe and secure with not a care in the world now make me see red. He reaches out to wrap me in a hug and instead of allowing him I wriggle out of his reach, putting my arms in front of me in a defensive stance.

"Don't touch me," I say harshly. Troy opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he has the chance to say anything. "Don't fucking say or do _anything_, just listen," I tell him. I know that we have drawn the attention of everyone in the room – even the sportscasters and the team's management.

"What –"

I just glare at him, "I trusted you, you know. I thought you for real, a person like me, thrown into this crazy world but not actually belonging here. I let you in. Do you know how hard it is for me to let someone it? To _truly_ let someone see the real me? Very – and I mean _very_ – few people know the real Gabriella Montez. I count them on one hand actually. There's my oldest best friend, my mom, one other best friend, and you. I trusted you, told you secrets, let you see both sides. Was any of this for real? Was I just a publicity stunt and when you found something so juicy like my secret desire to do right by my dad you threw away all that we worked towards for a quick pay day? Is that how _shallow_ you are? It's been me this whole time? But have you shown me the real you? Are all those stories about how you only played basketball because your father made you true? Or was it just some dumbass story you made up to get my pity?" I take a deep breath before delivering my final blow. "I'm used to holding up a shield, but I never thought that I would have to do that to the man I loved."

And by getting the last word, I walked off the court leaving Troy standing there speechless, in shock, and – if my mood readings were correct – hurt.

~*~*~

I found Danny and Don waiting outside the back doors. Chocking out another sob, I fold myself into Don's warm embrace. He just slowly rubs circles on my back as I cry my soul out, soiling the light blue shirt I bought him for his last birthday. "Have I ever told you how much I love you Donnie?" I ask in my half-frenzied state.

"Many times Brie," Don whispers into my hair. "You don't have to tell me today though."

"No, no, no I do though. For as long as I can remember, you've been there. You've never ever let me down Donnie," I tell him.

"Glad I could be of service," he tells me before practically carrying me into a waiting car.

"Take me to the lab," I mumble sleepily.

"Brie," Don says exasperatedly. "You're in no state to do anything, let alone process evidence."

"I don't care," I pout like a petulant child, "I can't go home right now Donnie. I just can't." I look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he understands that I can't face the prospect of going into an apartment that might just remind me of Troy and the horribleness of _that_ life. He seems to understand because he doesn't object and tells Danny to head straight to the crime lab. I sigh happily and settle further into Don's embrace hoping that today was just a bad dream. Except that it wasn't and when the three of us walked onto the 35th floor, there was another surprise that made today just that more terrible.

"Oh there you guys are," Stella says waving a hand in greeting at us. "I could've sworn I sent you home kiddo," she frowns at me. "You look terrible." Don just wraps an arm around my shoulders as I sniffle quietly.

"Yeah, well what's up Stell?" Danny asks next to us. "I got your text about a 911. Did we get a hit on the case?"

"Sadly no," Stella says in annoyance. "Poor Adam's being worked to the bone, as is Hawkes. Sent Linds home though."

"Good," Danny says with a nod. "She deserves a break."

"So do the three of you," Mac states as he enters our conversation.

"Ah we're fine," Don says waving off Mac and Stella's protests. "Just need some more coffee, that's all." The pair shares a dubious glance but allow it to slide as the five of us move into Mac's office where a group of people and Adam, Hawkes, and Sid are all standing.

"Well, three more of the members of this team have showed up," Mac announces to the room at large. I plant my face back in its spot on Don's chest, so I don't know who the other people are. "I'll introduce everyone afterwards. But I just want to say that while I understand that you are here in hopes of learning some background before you star on one of those crime shows, please understand that this is an actual job. We have things to do, evidence to process, killers to catch, questions to answer. I agreed to this because – truthfully – I had no other alternative. I have no qualms of removing you from the premises if you become a hindrance, understood?" I could hear the shifting of weight and a few murmurs. "Good," Mac states."There are six investigators on my team including me. Stella, is my partner." There is a pause, where I am sure Stella is waving or something. "Then, there's Dr. Hawkes." Another pause. "Danny Messer is another of my investigators. His wife Lindsay isn't here right now, but she is the fifth member of our team. And," he pauses here and I feel Don nudge me. Hastily wiping my eyes, I glance up at the group of imposing individuals all dressed in designer duds. "This is the newest member of the team Gabriella Montez."

I give a little wave before burrowing back into Don's embrace. Faintly I hear a gasp, but I'm too far gone to make light of it. Mac's already moved on to introducing Adam and Sid – our resident coroner – before turning to Don and introducing him as the homicide detective. Only after all is said and done and Mac asks, "Are there any questions?" do I connect that little gasp.

"Gabriella Maria Montez," a familiar voice sneers with venom. I look up in shock, but then it hits me like a ton of bricks. The new show that Sharpay was to be staring on had to do with CSIs. I was a CSI, they would be shadowing CSIs to learn a bit about who we are and what the job entails. I groan aloud and feel hot tears burn in my eyes again. Not after what happened with Troy. It is too soon for me to have to be faced with another person. I take one look at my supposed best friend, her face twisted in anger before I flee the room, not bothering to stand up for myself this time and finally coming the conclusion that when you fall, you fall _hard. _


	16. Translation Please?

**A/N:** Just one more chapter after this one *tear* I hope you guys like this chapter. It was much shorter than this originally, but it didn't give me the kind of pay-off to the characters that I hope this one does.

**Special Thanks To**: _unknownbyhim22, __hollygirl1823, __PrincessCherokee01, _Midnight113, 12superstar, L.I.V.E.x.L.O.V.E, creativelyyourz, Lala28

**Special Welcomes T****o**: _mk555_

**FYI:** All mistakes are mine, no beta, and my BFFs aren't the best proofreaders.

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the little bubble I live in, everything else is up for grabs.

_**

* * *

Finding Your Way Back Home**_

**Chapter 15**

_And everybody here's, from somewhere else  
__You could make a million dollars, but you might lose yourself  
__And you can take the heat will your heart go cold  
__They say acting's just pretending, even that gets old  
__And there's never any rain, when you want it  
__A hollow little game and you've won it  
__Looking for a thrill but you've done it all_

– _Ferras _

_For those doubts that swirl all around us,__ f__or those lives that tear at the seams.__We know,__w__e're not what we've seen – OneRepublic_

_

* * *

_

I found that my attention became directed elsewhere when I was no longer stretched between two completely different worlds. I wasn't _perky_, but Don said that a weight seemed to have lifted from my shoulders – at least that was what I led him to believe. The turmoil of emotions within my own brain was a completely different story.

Josh was both upset and ecstatic – if that was even possible. Every few hours my iPhone would chirp with the latest sales update, a juicy tabloid reveal does wonders to production increases.

Kelsi was hurt. Taylor was snide. Sharpay was melodramatic. Troy was a nuisance. Ryan was confused.

I wanted all of them to stop bothering me. The article had succeeded in trapping me into a singular world; _my_ world rather than _their_ world.

Mac was commending. Both Stella and Lindsay were happy for me. Danny was teasing. Don was proud.

I was just a little bit lost. I found myself completing my job, sparring with Don and Dan, but without the usual spark and everyone was aware of it. I had tried to get the best of both worlds. I should have known that that specific dream would be an impossible feat.

* * *

"Are you sure Gabriella?" I wave off Lindsay's worried words for the hundredth time in the span of twenty minutes.

"I have nothing to do with my life Linds," I tell her reassuringly. "Go spend Valentine's Day with your husband. I'll be fine to watch Alexia." The two of us are in the break room. The sun is just starting to set on the city and both Lindsay and Danny are dressed to the nines. Weeks ago, Danny had told Don and me – in confidence – exactly what he was planning for Valentine's Day. I thought it was rather sweet, but all of these plans hadn't involved Alexia – so in stepped the best friend to save the day.

Lindsay hesitates once again and I sigh in exasperation. Plucking the warm bottle of formula from Lindsay's hands I push her out of the break room, all the way down the hall – to the amusement of colleagues – and into the elevator.

"Enjoy your child-free night," I tell her waving goodbye. Lindsay just rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's excited – her light brown eyes are twinkling.

Crossing the hallway, I make my way into Mac's office where Alexia is spending some quality time with her godfather. "Lindsay finally take her leave?" the former marine asks drolly as he holds up another one of Alexia's many stuffed animals.

I nod and snort, "That just took all of half an hour." I drop onto the carpeted floor. Looking at the baby, who's mop of curly blonde hair and baby blue eyes leave no doubts as to who her parents are, I feel something akin to a smile grace my face for the first time in days.

"We've missed that," Mac comments. I start and stare at my boss. He gives me a small smirk, "That smile, we miss that Gabriella."

"I smile," I tell him defensively as Alexia crawls over and pulls herself into my lap reaching for the bottle.

"Not like how you used to," Mac points out. He mulls over his words for a few moments before adding on, "I've unbent enough to send you, Danny, and Don to the same crime scenes just in hopes that you'll enjoy your time a little more Gabriella."

"Spending time with the two of them almost guarantees you'll smile," I concede. "But that doesn't mean much." A spell of silence falls over us as we watch Alexia drain her bottle and the sun dips further in the sky.

"You're starting to log more overtime than Stella or myself." I can tell this was what Mac had been leading up to. My shoulders sag a little.

After a few moments where I gather my thoughts, I tell Mac, "It's easier to be here. Here I can feel productive; here I can almost feel _normal, _like nothing's happened. It's hard to explain," I say, but with more determination than it should take, I confide in him, "I've been staying at Don's place. I can't even pass by the Upper East Side, I had Linds and Stella pretty much raid my closet for anything I might need before instructing them to dump it all at Don's apartment. My publisher is grateful that sales have gone through the roof, but truly pissed off that I'm not meeting my deadline for the next book in the series. I avoid those people who are watching us because of that TV show like the plague."

Mac nods. It's rare when the Boss-Man shows emotion, but it is there – just buried deep. Right now, though, he is not my boss. He is a friend that wants to help me through a tough time and I'm extremely grateful for the hug he pulls me in to.

"Everything happens for a reason," he tells me and I feel myself nod against his shoulder. "I can watch Alexia tonight Gabriella."

"Oh, but I promised –"

He gently interrupts my weak protests. "I'm sure Danny and Lindsay would understand. Anyways none of us have a case, so maybe you should just go and get a few hours of sleep – _in_ _a_ _real_ _bed_."

I hang my head like a petulant child, "Fine."

Mac snorts and then proceeds to push me out of his office. "Try to enjoy your weekend," he tells me. "I'll see you at eight am on Monday."

I kiss Alexia on the head, wave goodbye, and walk to the locker room wondering what in the world I was going to do for an entire weekend.

* * *

My boots whisper on the freshly fallen snow as I make my way down a well-traveled path. The air is still and crisp but thick with sorrow at the same time. Apart from myself, no other living being is around, but that is just as well in my opinion. I traipse through the sprawling lawns, walking carefully around the headstones before I finally come to a halt in front of a simple granite headstone. Leaning down I blow a kiss to the words summarizing my dad's shortened life.

"Hi Daddy," I greet listlessly. "I brought the Mets upcoming schedule, Donnie and Dan have sworn that they're gonna drag me to every last game. It's been a while since I visited and I'm sorry for that, things have just gotten crazy." I pause and sit in the snow, not caring that my coat and pants will be soaked in just a moment.

"Have you been watching from heaven Daddy? Did you watch when Mac accepted me on as a detective investigator? That was probably one of the proudest days of my life. Mom certainly thought so. She made me all my favorites for dinner and invited the whole team over along with Troy," I choke on a few tears. "Have you been watching me and Troy, Daddy? He had promised you little princess the world. I was _so_ foolish. I led myself into believing that I could have a happily ever after. He made me feel eight years old again, when I dreamt of being Cinderella. He was the perfect Prince Charming and he broke the heroine's heart," I take a shuddering breath and wipe at the tears on my cheeks.

"I should have listened to you, Daddy. Do you remember what you told me right before fourth grade? I remember. It was late at night, you had made lemonade. That summer had been muggy and sticky. Don and I had played every single water sprinkler game imaginable. _You_ told me that no one except my own voice mattered. But, I was self-conscious. I hadn't talked to Sharpay or Ryan or Kelsi or Taylor the _entire_ summer. Remember? I was _so_ worried that they all hated me; that they had discovered my secret of coming from a poorer background. Do you remember? I had spent the entire summer making money by managing the score at the local ball park where Donnie was playing or by helping Don mow neighbors' lawns where he would give me a bit of his pay. I had saved all of that _and_ my pocket money to buy a few new things at the local consignment store. Do you remember how it had all disappeared in the blink of an eye because I had gone to buy a new pair of Louboutin shoes and a Louis Vuitton purse? Do you remember how I had wanted to spend it on a pair of tickets for the Rangers for Don's birthday gift? But I didn't because Sharpay's words kept floating around my head: _That was_ so _three seasons ago Brie, I'm surprised your parents want you to be seen like_ that. I remember it all as if it were yesterday. I remember the hurt that pierced my heart at the thought that my friends didn't want to be seen with me. I remember the confusion at just trying to be _me_. I remember the anger at you and Mom because I blamed the both of you for sending me to East Side Academy. I remember a lot more emotions much too complicated for a nine year old's mind."

I am shouting now; the hurt from the last few days mingling with the hurt from so many years ago. I am glad no one else is here. No one else is here to witness the mental breakdown of the normally cool-and-collected Gabriella Montez. For the first time in my life I am willing to admit a fact: I am _broken_ and no amount of coddling and repairing will fix me. I am the second-rate model in a line of much more higher-end individuals. I am the one that people pick up and then proceed to throw over their shoulder. No one wants me. I kick the tree next to my father's grave site. In truth, I want to pummel the tree until it is just pulp. I want to take out my gun and shoot a few well-aimed bullets at moving targets.

"It's best to let it all out," a voice states wryly behind me. "I'm sure that there are people in Sri Lanka that haven't heard you."

I whirl around to face the familiar voice. A faint pink dusts my cheeks as I realize that all this time I have been ranting aloud. Taylor is standing there. Her all-knowing eyes are giving me an once-over. Out of that group, Taylor has always been the most perceptive of us and I know she's cataloging how much I've hurt over the last few days. I don't even try to hide the tears that are leaking from my eyes. I don't have anything to prove to anyone anymore. It's just me.

"Come here sweetie," Taylor croons and I take a couple hesitant steps forward. Taylor gives a miniscule eye roll before finishing the distance and wrapping me into a hug. We stand there for a good ten minutes; me bawling, Taylor whispering nonsense. It feels good to cry, the mask of a slight smile finally slipping off my face as I succumb to the pain.

When I finally stop, Taylor pulls back and hands me a Kleenex along with a small smile. "You know," she says. "If you actually stopped to listen to your voicemail every once in a while, you might have realized that not all of us were angry over what you did."

My voice is small, child-like, when I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Sweetie, _I _always knew that you didn't come from the same social circles. When I worked in East Side's office, I peeked at your records," Taylor reveals sheepishly. "I'm sorry, but I was curious. That was when I realized you were there on a full-ride scholarship. We all would've understood," she tells me consolingly. I snort and at my glare Taylor reconsiders, "Sharpay would have gotten over it eventually, but the rest of us wouldn't have cared. You didn't have to work yourself to the bone in an attempt to keep up with our high-spending lifestyle."

"You guys wouldn't have liked me if I didn't," I say. There were many a time where I had hoped what Taylor was currently telling me was true, but I knew my characterization of my best friends was spot on. I would have been banished from their clique.

"We would have loved you all the same," Taylor counters forcibly. "I don't want you to think that you are alone right now Gabi. Troy is just a pig-headed sports star and he never deserved such a great girl like you." Tears leak out again at Taylor's words. "I mean it Gabi. Please don't feel like we all hate you, because that is the _furthest_ thing from the truth. We _love_ you. We _miss_ you. Before, we would have made amends regarding your wacked out schedule. Now we'll just have to be more cognizant of the fact that murder never sleeps."

I give Taylor a big hug and whisper, "Thank you."

"You shouldn't have to thank your best friend," she states primly and I manage a giggle. "Come on, Kelsi and Ryan are waiting in the car. We're thinking of dragging you home and putting some much needed alcohol in your system."

I nod my consent. "Let me just say good-bye first," I tell her quietly. Taylor smiles, gives me one last hug and walks out of ear shot.

"My next visit isn't too far off Daddy," I confide in him. "I'll make sure that I visit more regularly. I pinky promise."

* * *

"So where to?" Ryan asks when Taylor and I reach the warm confines of his Mercedes-Benz. As I slide into the back seat, Kelsi pulls me into a tight hug. No words are spoken between us, but it doesn't mean that messages are not exchanged. With my hug, I am apologizing for the secrets I have kept; with Kelsi's hug, she is reassuring me of a better future.

Ryan is much more lax than Taylor and Kelsi. He seeks me out in his rearview mirror before giving me a quick wink and wide smile. Translation: Everything will be okay, no hard feelings.

Taylor turns around in her seat and repeats Ryan's earlier statement. Apparently it is my choice for the evening. I hesitate for just a moment, weighing the pros and cons of each place to drown my sorrows at. But something teases the edges of my mind. There is something that I have to do before I can move on with my life. There is something that I have to be aware of. Something that I have to accept before I step into the spotlight.

Reality.

I have been living in a fictitious world for far too long. I have been ignorant of my reality. These past few months could be considered my sabbatical from pressing matters, _real_ matters. My last escape from reality was moving out of my apartment and into Don's. Logically, to be able to move on in my life I have to move out of my old one. I have to move back to my condo in the Upper East Side, no matter how much it pains me to admit it.

Tapping Ryan on the shoulder I ask him, "Think I could drive?" Ryan flashes me a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look and I snort. "Just because I don't own a car does not mean that I cannot _drive_ one."

I don't think that Ryan believes my confident statement, but he concedes all the same.

Driving through the crowded streets of Manhattan, I start to tune out the conversation between my three friends. They understand my need for quiet contemplation, but I am sure that they wish I would contribute every so often. Truthfully, I am steeling my nerve.

My friends do not notice the shifting neighborhoods. Night has fallen upon New York City and the three of them are preoccupied by the chatter abound. Kelsi leans forward to turn the radio to a Top 40 station. I give her a tight grin, before turning onto a quiet street and parallel parking in front of an old apartment complex and killing the engine.

"Where are we Gabi?" Taylor asks hesitatingly.

"In the charming Manhattan neighborhood called South Village," I answer in a distracted tone. My hands slide into my pocket, fingers dancing around as I search for my key ring and cell phone.

"Let me rephrase Gabs," Taylor replies. "What are we doing here?"

"I have to do something first," I single out a shiny key and open the door of the Mercedes; a rush of cool enters the heated cabin. "You don't have to come up."

"We said we weren't gonna go knockin' your roots Gabi," Ryan states exasperatedly. "What do you need?"

I give the blonde a small smirk as I pull back my curls into a messy bun. "I need to move back into my condo."

"You moved out?" Kelsi is in shock.

"I didn't sell the place if that's what you're asking. I just needed to escape."

"Understandable. Your place probably holds too many memories."

I tilt my head in agreement with Taylor's observation. "I had a friend fill up a couple suitcases filled with clothes and had her bring it all here, but I think it's time to move back."

"Well let's go then."

I'm reminded of past excursions with Ryan – crazy plans that always ended up with one or the both of us feet from a bar too chicken to enter the place. "I do need the man power."

Ryan's wide grin is all the confirmation I need to know that everything will turn out fine.

* * *

Don is already home when the four of us enter his apartment. My oldest best friend is nursing a Guinness on his beat-up couch cheering on the Rangers when he sees us. His expression of relaxation drops immediately to a defensive one. Rolling my eyes, I hang my coat on the hook by the door, toe off my snow-drenched boots and make my way over to the cramped living room.

"Your Rangers suck Donnie," I tell him without preamble and hoping that he'll lose the shocked expression and act normal. My plan falls through until I steal a sip of beer and punch him in the arm. "It's not polite to stare detective."

Don snorts and tugs on my hair before standing up. Taylor and Kelsi are both slightly dazed by Don and I smirk internally. Donnie is probably the best person to introduce to them first, if only because his charming looks will turn my horny best friends to mush.

Don clears his throat and I jump to action. "Ryan, Kels, Tay… this is Don Flack. He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. He lived in the house next to mine. Donnie, these three were the awesome people I went to school with and who became my friends there." The four of them exchange greetings as I stand around looking awkward.

"Whatcha need Brie?" Don asks after the preliminaries are completed. "Mac told me he sent you home."

I frown slightly. "Glad to know my business isn't above the NYPD grapevine."

Something akin to wariness flashes in Don's baby blues, but he just shakes his head, "Nah it's not like that Brie, I had come 'round wondering if you wanted a ride home and Mac happened to stop me and tell you where you were."

"Gotcha," I say with a nod of my head. "But, um… We were just gonna move all my stuff back to my apartment."

"Already?" I can hear the shock in his voice.

I shoot him a glare, but it doesn't stop the snort heard from behind us. Taylor and Kelsi are trying to contain their laughter. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing Gabi," says Taylor halfheartedly, but I narrow my eyes at the two of them. "It's just that he's right."

This sends the two of them into peals of laughter and my face scrunches into confusion.

"We're sorry," Kelsi gasps. "It's just do you remember your junior year at Stanford?"

Oh God. Do I Remember? How could I ever forget that? Rewind ten years. The setting is a warm May day. I had been going steady with this guy… let's call him Bob. So I had been going steady with Bob for the past eighteen months. I was younger than I am now, still learning the ropes of love and relationships. I had given my all to Bob and he had reciprocated in the most perfect way ever. Remember, I was alone in California… I was a long way away from the comfort of New York City. I was a long way away from my mom and Don and my friends. I was seeking the love that I felt in The City That Never Sleeps. Bob gave me that. Bob made me feel like a million bucks. Bob made me feel special and loved and whatever other clichéd expression there is in the "Handbook To Falling In Love". We shared an apartment in our junior year in college. But then it ended. Badly. Horribly. With screaming swears and stuff throwing. It was my realization that love isn't always good. That sometimes love can be bad. It was the worse break-up of my life – there have been worse ones, my latest break-up landing as number one on the "Worse Break-Ups" list. Regardless, I left our apartment. I had a bank account with not a lot of money in it, no car, a gym bag filled with an odd assortment of clothes that I had thrown in, and my school books. A fellow pre-law classmate took me in and for a whole month everything was okay. Then a four-way call with Taylor, Kelsi, and Sharpay revealed my current predicament. The three of them had flown in for the weekend with a "plan" – I use that term very loosely. The four of us were going to get my stuff back from "the dick" as Sharpay had christened him. To sum up this long story: "the dick" wasn't appreciative of the four of us disrupting his pathetic attempt at foreplay and I got my stuff back – along with the story of a decade.

Back in the present though, I am giving Kelsi "the Evil Eye" while Don is laughing his ass off. I had told him the story as soon as it had happened… apparently he had forgotten about it until now. Idiot.

"Yes I am ready people. I'm older, more experience. I've handled worse breakups then this." The lie sounds flat even to my own ears, my friends doubtful expressions tell me that they definitely do not believe me.

"I need to move on guys," I say in a voice just above a whisper. "This is publicized. I need to show everyone – _him_ especially – that I can move on from this. That I'm stronger than one of those girls whose hearts break easily."

"You offered a lot of yourself to him Gabi," Taylor reminds me hesitatingly. "It's okay if it takes a little longer to bounce back from this one."

I shutter my emotions. I give Taylor a blank stare and a cold shrug. "I'm fine Tay. I need to move on."

Translation: Discussion over. Case Closed. Next Topic. _Please_ Drop It.

Everyone reads the underlying message and no one dares to push the subject.

Don speaks up first, "Well Brie all your crap is in the bedroom. I'll grab one suitcase, Ryan you wanna grab the other?"

The two boys head out of the living room while I wander into the kitchen and take out a beer. Silently offering the bottle to the girls, I take a long swig before picking at the corner of the label. The three of us are quiet. The only sounds are the highlights from the Rangers-Flyers hockey game, the announcer is excitedly recounting the fiery match between the two teams which ended in the Flyers taking another win.

Taylor puts a hand on my shoulder. "You love him sweetie." It is more of a statement than a question.

I glance up at Taylor. My voice is hoarse when I respond, "Yeah I did. Not that it matters now." I shake my head in an attempt to clear all the conflicting thoughts in my mind. "Don't give me your pity you guys. I don't need it." Plastering on a smile, I drown the drink called "amber courage", chuck the bottle into the overflowing garbage can, and walk towards Don's only bathroom to collect my toiletries.

* * *

That weekend was a breath of fresh air. I had managed to have _fun_; much to the amusement of the people around me. I spent a chunk of cash on stuff that I will never need. I got drunk with the guys. I played some bizarre version of pool. I slept soundly for the first time in months. I visited my mother. I finished paperwork. I was productive. I was refreshed. I was…

Dead Meat.

Josh managed to get a hold of me Sunday night. I am grateful that it was Sunday night rather than Saturday morning. My deadline is Friday. I have less than a week to finish my novel.

I am screwed.

And that is how I found myself sitting on my balcony with a glass of chardonnay mulling over the plot bunnies roaming my mind. Calling Mac, I attempt to use a sick day. He tells me that I can get Wednesday through Friday off. He needs me Monday and Tuesday; the team will be short a CSI then, because those are Lindsay's days off. I agree to the terms and conditions. They seem fair and seventy-two hours is enough to finish my novel.

When Monday came along, so did another pleasant surprise. Sharpay's greeting.

I am typing away on my laptop – multi-tasking by searching AFIS for a match, reading Sid's autopsy report, and trying to iron out the plot holes in the first half of my book. A knock interrupts my work. I wave the individual in without even glancing up – if they are worthy of my time, they'll get straight to the point. A throat is loudly cleared and I manage to drag myself away from the screen of my laptop to survey my visitor. My jaw almost drops open in surprise. Standing there, looking conspicuously out of place in pink Chanel and Manolo Blahnik stilettos, is Sharpay Evans – the last of my friends to approach me, but one of the first to know the truth. She looks worse for wear; her eyes seem just a little haunted. Absentmindedly, I hit the save button on my documents and give Sharpay my full attention.

"What can I help you with Ms. Evans?" I ask with forced politeness. "Do you require more time at a crime scene? Or would you like to take another trip to the morgue? I was about to head down there myself. My victim's autopsy should be about finished." I feel a rush of sick glee rise in me as Sharpay turns a delicate shade of green.

"I'm sorry!" Sharpay exclaims the moment her mouth opens. "I'm _so_ sorry Gabriella. I'm sorry about all those snide remarks I ever said! I sorry for the callous shit I spewed at Ryan and Kelsi's opening celebration! I'm sorry about everything."

I sit back in shock for a moment. Surely, I am dreaming. Or, better yet, my crazed mind has replaced everything Sharpay _actually_ said with apologies. But, as she stands there and I gape at her, I know the truth. Sharpay has swallowed her pride long enough to apologize to me. Standing up, I walk around my desk and move to stand next to Sharpay.

"I'm sorry too," I tell her and before Sharpay can interrupt, I forge ahead. "I'm sorry that I kept so many secrets from you guys. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't smart. I should have known that I would be able to trust you guys with this since you're my best friends." We both share small hesitant smiles before a hug is exchanged.

* * *

Later that night, the team and our television counterparts are sharing Chinese take-out in the break room. Sharpay and I are recounting an old story from our time at East Side Academy, everyone is laughing and enjoying themselves. This is a far cry from a normal work day, but it is a good way to send off the individuals who belong in the television studio rather than an actual crime lab. As Sharpay ends with the dramatic flair, Hawkes picks up with an amusing story from his residency at an ER in Philadelphia.

I settle on one of the stools in the room while Lindsay walks over with Alexia in her arms. "You're meshing well," the Montanan states quietly, but with a wide smile.

I shrug and tickle Alexia. "You could say that I guess."

"You look more like that picture of a girl fresh out of high school, ready to take on the world that Don has tucked into his wallet," she says, poking me in the side.

I stick my tongue out at her. "I feel like that girl fresh out of high school, ready to take on whatever challenge that will come her way."

"That's a good feeling."

"Yeah it is."

There is a lull in the conversation. I know Lindsay wants to broach the subject of Troy, but she tactfully keeps that urge hidden. Danny walks over and takes his daughter from Lindsay's arms. Turning to face me, Lindsay offers one clichéd, but heartfelt piece of advice.

"Everything happens for a reason, you'll see why this happened to you and understand the lessons you learned from it." She gives me a quick hug before going to join the party.

* * *

**Review :)**

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	17. The End

**Disclaimer**: I - in no way, shape, or form - own _High School Musical_ or _CSI: NY_...... or _Bones_ for that matter.

* * *

**_Finding Your Way Back Home_**

**Chapter 16**

_I found my hopes, I found my dreams  
__My Cinderella story scene  
__Now everybody's gonna see  
__That you're not not not gonna get any better  
__You won't won't won't you won't get rid of me never  
__Like it or not, even though she's a lot like me  
__We're not the same  
__And yeah yeah yeah I'm a lot to handle  
__You don't know trouble I'm a hell of a scandal  
__Me, I'm a scene, I'm a drama queen  
__I'm the best damn thing that your eyes have ever seen_

_- Avril Lavigne_

_So the story goes on down a less traveled road. It's a variation of the one I was told and although it's not fate, it's awful close. In an ordinary fairytale land lays a promise of a perfect happy ending and I imagine just sort of that, is better than nothing – Kate Voegele_

_

* * *

_

The clickity-clack of my laptop's keyboard is the only sound heard Wednesday morning onward. It has been a long time since I have gone on a legitimate _writing_ kick, but in the midst of my crazy reality the ability to sink into a character's persona and write about _their_ problems is a refreshing change of pace. The words come easily, but that has never been a true issue. They mold together to form the backbone of my relatively simple plot. My novels are mind-numbing romantic escapades. They vary from fluff to angst and then back to fluff. They are completely predictable, but have a feel-good quality that makes them such great best-sellers.

Wednesday and Thursday pass in a blur of coffee, cold pizza, and word after word. Don visits after shifts to make sure that I have – at the very least – gone to the bathroom and let Skittles out. Taylor and Kelsi and Sharpay all drop by with chocolate-covered strawberries and a morale booster when I discover a hole in my storyline. Josh calls my iPhone constantly in demand of updates. Troy's number has been blocked from email and I am actively ignoring his texts. Skittles prances around my ankles and I drop the crust of my margarita pizza in way of apology. Skittles knows better than anyone else that you _do not_ bother me when I am fast approaching a deadline.

I feel good.

Friday approaches and with it I sense the end of the story I have been telling. At the end, I always feel a bit sad – as if I am saying goodbye to an old friend that I will most likely never see again. When I tried to explain it to Donnie he snorted, but that is truly the emotions that I feel as I type those last few sentences. It is always the hardest thing to do, ending the story. The middle is by far the easiest; I can see the action of a story easily, flesh out my meager character backgrounds. The beginning is always boring to write; I am required to introduce characters and backgrounds that I always feel I have known for a long time. The end is the challenge; how do you close a story where there is so much still to be told?

I turn my attention back to the Word Document in front of me and I feel as if I am playing a twisted version of the childish 'starting game'. The little black cursor is blinking at me as I stare at it unblinkingly. Resting my fingers on the appropriate keys, I finally bring the story that has been in the back of my mind for over a year to a close:

_When you love someone, you open yourself up to suffering. That's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart; maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. The thought of losing so much control over personal happiness is unbearable. That's the burden. Like wings, they have weight, we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens which allow us to fly._

The finality is there. With a final stroke I end the sentence with a period, click save, and stare back at my completed work. My personal struggle over the past couple weeks is apparent in my closing statements. It is as if I am living through my character. As if I am imparting great knowledge into the minds of women everywhere that will pick up this book mid-July and discover the heartbreak that one lowly young woman goes through on the quest to find a man who will love her unconditionally.

Before I have a chance to reevaluate the entire book, I send the manuscript as an attachment to Josh and close my laptop with a soft _snick_. I walk out onto my balcony, Skittles following dutifully, and lounge on the lone chair, deep in contemplation.

There is a sense of closure when you close a book. Fiction gives you a section of the character's life, but never the entire thing. _What happened before_ and _what happened after_ is left up to your own imagination. Reality is not like that. In reality, we know only of the past and of the present while the future spans on, far out of reach. In fiction we can happily tell ourselves that: _Oh, of course, the main character ends up leading the life they always dreamed of _because no one is there to tell us otherwise. In reality, we only have one chance – there is no undo button; no chance of hitting delete and rewriting our life.

I am broken from my reverie by the vibration of my iPhone. Too lax to give the display a small glance I slide a finger along the bottom and hit _accept_.

"Montez," I greet.

"_Hey Brie_," Donnie replies – his voice falsely cheery. "_I have something to tell you_."

"Something that couldn't wait until tomorrow?" I playfully whine.

"_This is big, Brie_."

"I'm all ears, Donnie."

"_Troy's innocent_."

You could hear a pin drop. The cars and honking and chatter all became white noise with those two simple words.

"You're shitting me." That's the only possible way. Too bad Don is a month early for April Fool's Day.

"_No I'm not_," he seems disbelieving himself.

"Yes, you are," I counter, eerily reminded of childhood arguments.

"_Just hear me out Brie_?" he states.

"I'm all ears, Donnie," I repeat.

A honk and swerve are heard down below. "_He visited me today. Dunno how he knew which precinct I work at, but anyways, he comes in saying that he didn't betray you. He's rambling pretty hard. I sit him down give him the evil eye and he just hands me a piece of paper he said he found in the team's locker room. It was a transaction between Diane Anderson and brothers named Alex and Marcus Baker dated the day that article was published._"

I whistle softly. That is evidence. Not even circumstantial evidence, but a paper trail.

"_I hauled their asses in and they confessed the moment Dan and I leered at them. Couple of wusses if there ever were any._"

I am silent as I process this new information, but Don seems to understand.

"_I'll check up on you later Brie. But maybe – and you know I would not normally say this – but maybe you should give him a call_," Don disconnects.

Setting down my wine glass, I gaze at the skyscrapers all around me. The concrete jungle, as my Nana had told me, was too big for a little girl like me whose head was always in the clouds. She never did approve of the fact that we lived in such a difficult and dangerous city – even though _she_ came from the west side of Chicago. _I_ have always loved New York. The fast-paced lifestyle is how I grew up and I cannot think of living any different.

I'm falling into a slight slumber when my phone vibrates again. This time I check the display and hesitate when I see _his_ name. Just take the plunge, I tell myself before hitting accept and holding it up to my ear.

"Montez."

"I'm sorry. _I'll spend a lifetime making it up to you if you just give me one chance_."

"Yes?" I ask into the phone, a frosty edge to my voice. He won't be getting off too easy.

"_I'm surprised you took my call_," he states solemnly into the phone. "_You've been rejecting every other one so why the call accept this time?_"

"I wasn't paying attention," I lie. "What do you want Bolton?"

I hear a gravelly sigh. "_Taylor came by to beat the shit out of me two days ago. Except from her I discovered exactly what I did wrong_."

"Mhm," I murmur noncommittally. I didn't know why I was still talking to him; maybe I took Don's words to heart.

"_Look, I _know_ you think I spilled to the press, but I swear to you Ella, I would never betray your secrets. _Please_ believe me_," The big basketball star is pleading into the phone.

I frown and contemplate hanging up. He is wasting my time. I don't even know why he is bothering.

"_I didn't tell_," he repeats. "_But I know who did_."

"Who?" I ask scathingly, pathetically taking the bait. "A lowly janitor?"

"_Close_," I can hear the smirk. "_But actually a lab tech_."

My eyes narrow. "Do not fuck with me Bolton."

"_I'm telling the truth Gabriella_," I can hear his voice become weary. "_One of the guys who works security has a brother who works at the NYPD crime lab. The two teamed up and found all the information possible to make a headlining story. I'm _sorry," he repeats.

My heart cracks just a little, but I'm unrepentant. "That's just circumstantial, conjectures strung along."

"_They are not conjectures_," he is defensive. There is a pause, as if Troy is weighing how deep in the doghouse he is. "_I told Flack_," he states simply. "_Today. He verified my story_."

_Of course he did_, I think. _He just told me what happened_. Instead I say, "You could be stringing me along."

"_I don't play the game that way Ella_."

"How do I know you won't screw me over in the future?" My defenses are slipping. I am going to cave as soon as he reassures me enough.

"_Because I'm not that guy_," he says. "_Because you trust me. Because you know the real me. Because I made you wait until it decided to rain._"

That did it. My walls came crumbling down. But Troy wasn't done yet. He had one last _because_. "_Look down_," he instructs.

"Why?" I ask, slightly peeved.

"_Give me the benefit of the doubt_?"

"Fine," I huff.

I glance straight down from my spot on the fourteenth floor, and see Troy holding his cell phone to one ear and a bouquet of daises in the other smiling up at me. "_Because I love you_."


	18. Just Read :D

This is it. The mega author's note. That was the final chapter. OMG. I. Did. It. I finished a multi-chapter story. SQUEE. I don't think I could've picked a better story to be my watershed moment. This story has been on FF since January of 2009, but the idea came October of 2008 when I saw _Senior Year!_ for the first time. This story, while from Gabriella's voice and perspective, was my escape. This story has helped me to sift through the kaleidescope of thoughts in my mind. It kept me afloat during the last few months of eighth grade and has helped me lead a "secret life" as a freshman. It has traveled through my altering fandom tastes and has lived to tell the tale. I love this story because even though I'm not a huge HSM fan anymore, my personality is so intertwined with that of this Gabriella that I find myself reading the story and seeing the *winks* into my own life.

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To me, this story is amazing. Of course, what I think is amazing and what other people think is amazing are two very different things. But, overall this story has received good reviews and with that you all deserve a humongous THANK YOU! You were all amazing. From the readers who reviewed once or after every chapter, to the readers who favorited this story, to the readers who alerted this story, to the readers who just read the story. You all deserve a shiny trophy for keeping this amateur writer's morale up. Reading your reviews always brought a smile to my face and I'm grateful for every last one.

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IF you guys don't like the ending. I'm sorry. I just couldn't figure out a good way to end it. I wanted to add a whole lot more, BUT I thought that it would ruin the special-ness of _that _ending. I hope I tied up the plot. I probably left big gaps. The final paragraph of Gabriella's book was NOT written by me. It was written by Temperance Brenna whose dialogue was written by Hart Hanson.

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If I am able to find inspiration... I'll write up a sequel. To stay updated... I have a LJ account that does both my fandom stuff and my personal life stuff. You're totally allowed to go find it and glance at it occasionally xD It's the homepage link on my profile page.

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One thing you guys should know about this story is that no matter how ingrained this was in an Alternate Universe. I still tried to incorporate as many High School Musical References as I possibly could without being outlandish. The references are just little hints and winks. Those kinds that don't seem that much out of the ordinary unless you're really looking for them.

**So here's a challenge**. For the first two people who find every last HSM reference. I'll make a oneshot to some aspect of this story for you. You pick the characters/ship, you pick the time frame, you pick the genre. Just remember... It has to be from **this **universe.

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Something I tried to do with this story was put song lyrics at the beginning of each this...you can probably recognize my changing taste in music xD Anyways, here's the list of all the songs.

First Story Title came from _Labels or Love_ by Fergie  
Second Story Title came from _You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home_ by Hannah Montana

_Ordinary Day_ by Vanessa Carlton  
_Just Dance_ by Lady GaGa  
_Start of Something New_ by Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez  
_You Pulled Me Through_ by Jennifer Hudson  
_Stand _by Rascal Flatts  
_Kelsey _by Metro Station  
_Bless the Broken Road_ by Rascal Flatts  
_You're Not Alone Tonight_ by Keith Urban  
_I'm Movin' On_ by Rascal Flatts  
_First Date_ by Blink - 182  
_Helplessly, Hopelessly, Recklessly_ by Jessica Andrews  
_Scream _by Troy Bolton  
_The Best Day _by Taylor Swift  
_What It Takes_ by Adam Gregory  
_Courage Is_ by The Strange Familiar  
_Here We Go Again_ by Sara Paxton  
_Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)_ by Green Day  
_Finally _by Fergie  
_All The Right Moves _by OneRepublic  
_In The End _by Linkin Park  
_In The City_ by Kevin Rudolf  
_Find a Way_ by SafetySuit  
_Hollywood's Not America_ by Ferras  
_Marchin' On_ by OneRepublic  
_The Best Damn Thing_ by Avril Lavigne  
_Forever and Almost Always_ by Kate Vogele

Thanks y'all for this crazy ride :D


	19. Surprise

I wrote a sequel. That's why this story is appearing in your inboxes again :) If any of you are interested in reading a sequel, it's called **A Moment of Change**, and takes place about a year after the events of this story. In between homework and real life, I kind of wrote bits and pieces so, (hopefully) you guys wouldn't have to wait weeks (and months) for an update. Below is an excerpt from the first chapter. The actual story is on my author's page.

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Chapter 1

Cold.

Dark.

Stillness.

_Those were the only thoughts that ran through my head at first, followed by the rushing feeling of panic. The darkness pressed a thick blanket over my eyes. It made me wonder if my lids were open or closed. _

Was I dead?

_But I vetoed that thought with a bit of logic. I could feel my chest contracting and expanding as I took in shallow breaths. I felt pain all over my body. My teeth chattered as a cool wind brushed my bare arms. My hands were tied behind my back. My feet were bound together. How long had I been down here? Where was _here_? My ears were ringing, my mouth was open. It took me a few moments to realize that I was screaming. _

Think_, I told to myself. But instead of logic, my mind screamed in horror. Instinct overruled all of my other senses and in my fit of despair I tried to yank apart my limbs. Bad move, I thought as pain shot up my left arm and a burning sensation centralized in my right leg. My head pounded as it scraped against the concrete floor and I could hear myself moan in pain before everything went dark. _


End file.
